the empty bone of gone

The rain was falling as I walked alone into the woods. The rain was cold and sharp. The woods were a funnel pulling me into an obsession, a cluttered and primitive orifice yielding only me as its enticement. Did I say something to make you think that the trees grew in a straight line or that the wild flowers didn’t bite? I’ve known this place deep in the back of my self as somewhere I could always go to find you. The fatal pull of the last who meets the first. The last breath as I pull my tongue out of your throat. And I’m not some tortured writer attached to a product or a stance. I sit upon the wet dirty earth staring at an open hole and I write letters to the ghosts that watch me and who think that I don’t know them already. I pretend to guess where they might be headed or what they might want from me, but I always knew you like the back of my mirror. The other side would show your face but the back is just black with promise of who you might be. Whoever I am- is what I mean -and the woods have a bottomless pond that I go to when I’m missing you- and I sink to the bottom of the world thinking of the words to say so that I can float back up and be the first to call the open sun back home…the only problem is that the murky gesture of something that might be rising always gets in the way and makes us want more than we have. I thought you might be the ghost who my hand wouldn’t go through. I can’t touch you…because you’re just a misty haze inside my rabid mind stream and I was looking for the leak and only found the hole. So I’m rushing into the woods-moving unalarmed- because I have nobody else- no other arm, no more words to help ease the pain of my disappearance -only a limp and a lie as I stumble forward groping the musky floor for your face.
Don’t you see me at all yet? I’ve been skirting the outline of the summary of how blood meets sky just for you- what needles to use to make fresh marks – what tracks to follow – what holes to dig- but you never left to do any of it – you just remained a shadow -staring at a trace of where I used to be. And there aren’t anymore blue eyes, only dried out sockets empty of your watery gaze- and so I keep my focus upon the words I never used, the letters I let fall to the ground in a hint of a trail just behind me. I meant to say more but never knew how. Ghosts don’t speak for themselves – they’re just made up words held in a mouth that no longer kisses or prays. The eating mouth of my words that are too hard to swallow…so you dangle as swinging limbs from a tree as I come looking for you- and I never saw you above me -watching me from the branches of her claws. Roots end in claws -just like the first becomes the last.

I was circling before I came here. Looking for a place to land. To be meaningful beneath the clouds. To not see and yet to keep looking. And that’s what this is, and we’re slicing ourselves either up or open. Does it even matter that our bodies were not real and never touched at all? Well I think it matters and that’s why I’m here in the woods headed toward your hollow…my open arms reaching up from the mound to embrace you forever in autumn’s bright death.

Is there a seeker and something to search for…I don’t think there is. Are we cursed as the haven we commenced from…I don’t think the romance would leave us bound. I think the woods howl to the haunted to enter the dusk like a vulture would enter the dawn. You do belong here no matter what they say…and our shells are given to each other so that someone might echo through us and make us feel alive again. We would do anything to be real, to be touched, to be heard. We would do anything to let love into the brutal hunt of the circling fog bodies. We would write and cut and kill the water to get inside just one more time. We would call the woods a fatal attraction and then bring her flowers on the side. We would say he was a ghost and then suck his head to death.

We would be me –
with nothing left but slivers of mirror beneath my feet- wandering -aimless- bloody footprints all alone upon the widow earth looking for a deeper you with every worded step. And even though I know you don’t see me and you can’t hear me I still hand you the knife and say, “Go”

We only have this defeating love. Make me go away. We only have the gasp of a gripping God. We only have the empty bone of gone.

Gone Gone Gone
the beyond…

are you with me or not?
Sharada Devi

23 thoughts on “the empty bone of gone”

  1. tired pages- hi
    I like
    But you ask for it- the bone
    👣-I wish these could be pointing the other way
    Close to the earth, you describe
    My footsteps echo, now
    I suppose you woke up a mountain, now masquerading

    1. Wayne,
      You’re so dramatic.
      sink, crumble,
      tired pages…
      don’t leave me now!
      I asked for it

  2. When all was lost and there was no one home and all the lights were out. He came out of the wilderness, a skinny yogi like a walking skeleton. Death breath sat down upon the cold hard ground. When we give up the hungry ghost the dakini comes. She brings the skull cup of rice milk cooked in ghee to bring back life and lift the bone. When there eyes meet, the wet flame kurukulla apears, her mouth opens in the sound of AH. He eats the world of pain and is filled with bliss. The Dakini Sujata takes her seat upon the hard crystal bone of Shiva’s throne. There lips merge and the serpent queen awakens and moves up the spine. The circle is returning back to her Gone, gone, gone beyond the beyond. and at the moment of release he stops the white pearl. The sky opens up and She cuts off his head with one stroke of her crystal blade. Now headless he moves to the Bodhi Tree. He sits down in a pool of blood and all is gone black here now. She dances naked in rainbow light holding his severed head. The night is full of all the ghosts, they come with all they got to bring him down, but she puts the human thighbone trumpet to her lips and blows the bone. Millions of moon mad dakinis fly in and touch the ground, they circle the yogi and all the demons disappear. The dawn has come and vajra yogini puts his bloody head back on his shoulders. He opens his eyes and looks up into the deep dark light sky and sees the morning star. Venus kurukulla opens the door and he walks free in endless delight. The fight is over, the thunderbolt vulture guru won, the circle of dancing dakinis made the day.
    Now come my children, lay down and pray. Om Ah Hum Vulture Guru give me Siddhi soon. Om kurukulla Hrih swaha. kalibaba

    1. Trumpet Blow
      Black Heart Beat
      somewhere else besides this
      he sits getting blown
      legs shake
      rising lightening
      like tides that shudder
      Who needs a house anyway?
      Take take take
      gone gone gone
      over and over
      flags wave in wet winds
      gold buzzards beat
      their fists into me
      who said she wasn’t
      a cook?
      Who knew the name of
      Eagle Eyes
      who only comes once
      and can stop
      on a chime.
      You don’t get me do you?
      Catching the sound
      between legs that were torn
      off by the night Beast
      holding Her Heaven in his hand
      don’t go away like there’s
      no tomorrow…
      wait, wait for the stop
      To kick in and the go
      to get you good.
      Down down she goes.
      mother made me
      make you the lover.
      Stooping over, chopping
      the sacrifice in half.
      Two, two of you.

  3. I’m in a sunroom
    I was made to

    At her feet,
    I feel

    No words can touch me, not even death

          1. I could thin it with blood

            What I mean is if it is boring

            But we don’t want shadows in the sky

            When I die, tree of light, right?
            My heart whispers: “only what’s inside.”
            And it takes the edge

    1. The mind is so busy? Busier than your mind?
      Your mind who reads and writes and judges?
      I like you, you’re funny and entertaining…
      maybe you can get some of that
      “Lord have mercy” energy out on this blog-
      It would really help with that stick you’ve got…sending all my busy love your way…⚡️❤️⚡️

  4. Sing the ancient silence, the sirens’ song calling our wayward souls back from the turbulent stormy sea to the jagged rock of bodhisattva activity. Smashing all illusions — fragments back to earth baked forever and rubbed into bone dust.

    Take all and again and again till nothing is left but the powdered bits of all that is meant to be. The naked stripped bone of emptiness and again and again stripped and returned to cosmic nothingness, to dharmic stardust.

    I stand in frozen hungry lines consuming, searching for the endless big buy, looking for the ultimate orgasm — the organic cosmic carrot — the right mantra — the right next lie — the big con — the holy grail that can never be bought nor sold. It is She in the hushed twilight, diamond mind, holding the rainbow crystal skull cup of Amrita.

          1. Yes I am little heart for I’m jealous and petty and live in the big hot air balloon of big terrible nothing — a stringed puppet — waiting for the big cut sliced bone at neck by Manjushri or Kali’s sword — big hearts are fearless action — I’m slow by willing little heart 🕉

          2. Are you writing while you drive home?
            You couldn’t be back yet- I hope you
            got something to eat- you shouldn’t drive all day without eating in?…
            didn’t go out to tree yet…been busy..
            *If you keep saying you’re jealous, petty
            and slow/ then you should see that- that’s who you want to be- or you’d change it-
            and also, that isn’t “willing”
            that’s resisting –
            So you’re not “slow and willing”
            you’re slow because you’re resisting-
            and that’s why you’re jealous because
            he didn’t resist the urge to merge…
            and you did…Hahahaha ⚡️❤️⚡️

  5. Blood soul poet wood nymph Dakini,

    I am with you , as I wipe your bloody feet clean on my white dress, I pick you up and feel the heat of Your Sunshine Sila Jinn body on the palms of my hands. We face the Sun and take flight, soaring high , feeling the pleasure-pain burn of her golden , bubbling light in our eyes and our spines. Her light is equally as good as the rich , delicious , darkness of the haunted woods, where you sacrificed all……but yet , so satisfying to liquefy into until we both are gone. Flying forever into the eternal, pure-white , bliss-noise, sound wave our ears use to guide us back home.

    ❤️, Your Butterfly ride 🕉🌿✨

  6. promises promises
    spoken through the haze
    bubbling brooks of obsessive desire
    turn the tide of true love ways

    part the path seamlessly down the middle
    with your fine-tooth comb of keen discretion
    extension of self
    in precise reflection
    perpetual echo
    reverberating now and now and now
    bouncing back and forth between
    the realm of what’s to be
    and what has been

    and what is revealed in that placid pool
    of collective calm
    can you see the be of me
    or is it a figment of my imagination
    look deeper than deeper
    has the bottom dropped out yet
    or was it merely the ceiling that flew away

    tarry not too long in that gentle space of abiding
    though it may seem like heavens gate
    the pivotal point is always now and now and now
    please do not hesitate
    as cling is not the thing
    to which you should hitch your fate
    Will you be stuck or unstuck in time
    what else should we contemplate?

  7. Thank you for planning another trip to the House of Yoga

    I see you soaring on the edge of the clouds, circling waiting for my body to take its last breath so you can land on my bones and pick away at my flesh
    I am yours, as you eat away, take it all.
    Let this body sink into the cold earth as the ghost flys into the starts breaking into 3 billion pieces, we meet.
    And maybe if I pray hard enough today I will know you when I see you, looking in the mirror as we overlap

  8. I need a cyber hug today. And maybe a little stroking. I am not liking the spin that I am in. Have you got a minute?

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