the ghost said me

The room was dark and there was a ghost in the corner. I couldn’t sleep -and I could hear him praying- he was saying the name of Mary. The cloaks are in the sky at night -and one by one they cover us- whoever they are- they sneak in the room and lay over our bodies and smother the light- and we sleep and forget we knew him. He came in and sat down and didn’t come near me, but instead he watched, and he prayed, and he let me lie listless- a cloaked figure- a ghost- alabaster and raw. “Tomorrow isn’t coming, Christ Jesus.” I pretended I didn’t see his willowy knuckles caressing the joints in my heart. I pretended I didn’t feel Mary stirring way beneath my shallow bones. “Where have you taken me?” Another night in rags, tearing the sheets from my burdensome skin. Wild and alone, a darkness like no other settled upon me like the weight of man. I knew someone had come -dragging a corpse not far behind him, a chain down the hallway swinging a child- stuck between legs of dewdrop and ash. I mean, this is nothing new, I’ve seen it all before. I’ve been the one turning the knob on your door. And I’m coming in to lay with you -quietly worn- and I’m listening to the beat beat beat of the ghost inside your cloak. Are you going to go down on me somewhere calling out to Mary? Sacred, even more sacred than before. Prayers light the corner of my room where the shadow of you sits pretending it isn’t time to die yet. And I’m coming in your room after everyone has gone to bed -and I’m not going to cover you with sleep- but instead with me, the warm sound of her name. Ripped and torn open, wet beneath blankets and tears that don’t dry…I heard a voice come from your mouth long ago, before this happened -and tonight was only the end of your breath. I am the beginning of tonight. My chest rises and falls and nobody’s there but you. And I’m going to float through your door in the darkness -and I will not turn on the light- and I won’t sit in the corner, I will lie next to you, pulling you through me thread by thread. Close, even closer than before. Black eyed, magnetic enigma, who doesn’t hear the midnight lark- who doesn’t open music with their mouth- who doesn’t belong in my silence long after death has parted? And I stole the crown of thorns he wore and I put it on my head -and I walked away from him like I never heard a word he said…and then I came for you, “Christ, my lord why haven’t they fed my baby?” But tonight was different -and I wasn’t wearing anything, only naked- with the usual scars -and he was sitting in the corner, a ghost, and I could hear him praying to her, “Mary why did you leave me to die?” I shook word from word and saw the slow movement of transparency upon a body of burden. I looked the other way in the dark, and he whispered, “She doesn’t know I love you more” And when I come into your room after everyone’s gone to bed, and it won’t be long, I’ll bring you a piece of me that you’ll never forget, I’ll lay down and give up the sky. I’ll roll over and blind the last witness. I’ll cover you in thorns and kisses. I’ll dream a little dream for you and you’ll never see me coming. I’ll pull back the blankets and crawl inside your skin and I’ll start moving and humming her voice through the stars. I’ll open the casket and touch your body. I’ll say a prayer and beg you to never leave me again. Why do you always sit in the corner? My room is a chamber of secret syllables. Tonight is a fatal slash on my wrist. You are the sin in my tears. I am the blanket that covers your dim body. I am darker than you, we make light together. If I knew what to do I would do it. If only I could sleep without knowing who you are.

Make me whole,

The ghost said me.
Sharada Devi

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19 thoughts on “the ghost said me”

  1. Listen to the voice of the soma moon, can you hear her song? She is singing and dancing around you, whispering hum hum hum in your inner ear. There is nowhere to hide anymore, she has opened the door and the angel of death walks in. She left the room in the middle of the night to listen to Her voice. She puts light on the screen and is writing to you in blips of magic dots. Pixel Dakini summons the words, in her form, blowing the dust once again into your mind stream. Only you cannot find release in the sleep of an elephant or a flying pig because she has you by your short hair caught in her web of creation. I wake up to pee, then walk by her to to see. “Remember me,” she said through the silence. “I put you here.” The light grew dim, a bug flew in, but the flame still remains. The true dreaded guru is the only one who cares. On and on the song goes, listen to the red moon calling you from above. All you can be is a soma pot, fill her up at the gas pump. You’re nothing without her and you know it. It’s all you know. “Are we there yet?” The child of wonder asks. “How long does the song go on?” Listen listen listen to my hearts song.
    Shine on silver bird. Bhagavan Das 108

    1. BHAGAVAN WHO NOBODY SEES INSIDE
      WHO IS INDIA WITHOUT THE TRASH
      HIS DREADED MOUTH EATING
      OUR HEART CAKE
      ONLY SWEETNESS IN HIS SONG
      HIS NAME IS IN THE WIND
      FLYING WITH THE MONKEY GOD
      WHO FINDS HER IN THE JUNGLE
      ROTTING IN LESSER RICHES
      IMPRISONED BY HIS WICKED MIND
      THE GURU TEARING LIMB FROM LIMB
      SHOOTING ARROWS INTO DARKNESS
      FACE TO FACE.
      SITA RAM

  2. Dreamed a dream of You last night (more likely early morning)
    You told me that You were already born while still within the womb
    breathing and aware, eyes wide open.
    Further into the dream I saw You from across a room of people and noticed a facial gesture
    followed by an action ( not to be disclosed)
    When l later asked “what was that about? Why did you do that?”
    You answered “I knew what was in your mind”
    And it was true.
    There has been a flood-like outpouring of intensely vivid ,wildly detailed,
    color saturated dreams lately.
    Hibernation in fetal position.
    My beloved Grandfather came to visit the other night
    A cosmic treat.
    Sitting on the arm of my chair in his blue shirt speaking in very hushed tones
    – asked him to speak louder as i could barely make out what he was saying
    wanting to savor our time together
    everything else around was just noise and distraction.
    Realizing that no one else in the room could see Him. i looked away for only a moment
    and He was gone.

    1. what was in your mind?- you’re not giving us enough details…then you cut to grandpa…?

      laughing into madness is better than being
      angry -straight up- not curled up…😹

      like a cat…

      1. ah ha – you pounced right on that one!
        details- isn’t that where the devil lies.
        dream editing – what would Dr Carl J have to say about that…
        hmm – the undisclosed ( which word i dare not speak )
        not here, not now – scary monsters of the mind.
        Well let’s just call it a dreamlike form of a ghost from childhood.
        Actually there were 2 yesterday
        and you banished them from the dream.
        I think that they are phantoms from a past lifetime that
        won’t accept that the bones of them were pulverized long ago
        and they show up now and then to haunt me.
        It’s funny – i mean really funny
        because you do know what was in my mind
        right after i sent that “thought” into cyberspace,
        i sat straight up to practice some quiet time
        and as those pesky thoughts that begin to flow and let go came and went
        up popped “Hey, i should have said curled up in fetal position”
        HA!
        so you did know what was in my mind (one way or the other)
        like a peeping tomcat .
        Do you have one of those two-way mirrors of the mind?
        I’ll try some full on laughter therapy today.
        Not meow though – more like RRRrrrr…

        To sleep, perchance to dream – cut to a madman
        holding a yet to be crystalized skull.

        i was always drawn to prefer the images of Buddha in repose
        Now the notion that this is the image of Him as He lay dying
        takes on a whole different outlook.
        ( I don’t know where that came from but it seemed appropriate )

        BTW – i gotta have Grandpa show up in the mix once in a while
        because He is the friendliest ghost I know…

        🌕 💤 👻 ⚡️💀😸💡 🐯

        1. yes the 2 way mirror of the eighth house- both alive and dead at once…nobody speaks
          of the room they were born in- nobody imagines the room they will die in- we just
          think, yes I used to live in that house,
          he loved me there, she baked cookies.
          The eighth house where nobody goes but where everyone’s stuck -Like putting $ in the bank- its imaginary but keeps us going and coming back for more…karma and moksha

          1. Kind of like that kids game
            where you ring the front door bell
            then run away and hide in the bushes
            waiting to see what happens
            when in truth you are really on the other side of the door
            afraid to open the deadbolt
            and walk through the threshold

          2. ring the bell again and again
            our birth starts the bell ringing-
            our so called unheroic life is like hiding in the bushes waiting to see if there’s anyone inside- and death is when she finally hears the bell and opens the door…but we
            miss it again and just keep heading for that
            god forsaken bush…running from the only
            one who can unlock anything and imagining she doesn’t know we’re back in the bush…
            hiding once again…such is the monotony of of the karmic lull…the key is:
            WHEN YOU KNOCK, YOU STAY.
            face the only face that’s real.
            LoveChild

  3. he awoke before dawn…he laid there waiting for the psychosis of sleep to wear off…he got up and tended to the beasts…threw a coat on and started the car…the mantra started playing from the night before…he turned on the dome light so he could see and he went into the garage…he thought about all of the conflicts from his own biased sense of victimhood…and the experiences that he had…how he reacted…every single time without fail…he considered the possibility that maybe he was deficient in some essential vitamin that may have affected his temperament…he realized though, that it was more likely just a toxic attitude and appreciation deficiency…and then he thought about the black dress…and the lemurian wand…could he one day understand and demonstrate that power…”no” he remembers her saying because it’s not something that can be learned but rather a truth that can be only embodied through trust and devotion…which he never felt toward those that no longer waved from beyond the bridge that was burning before him…he would take that experience with him…wherever life would take him…maybe use it to get inside the next door that none before had opened…like the one he was now in the process of closing…

    he had to drag all the junk out of his car into the foyer to make room for the thing…he became lost in thought and the experience of being so awake and motivated and excited so early in the morning….contemplating the karmic effects of having been so offensive to beings that he was certain were out to harm him for the sake of material gain…only to realize that he has nothing without the grace of the guru and so he is poor beyond measure…because he has severed his connection to their lineage of the worlds greatest saints due to his arrogance…the laughing bust of the crazy old man in a blanket was unsettling to him anyway…

    gathering his belongings…his upper torso leaning into the car…he was startled by the sound of the front door slamming closed on its own…right as the engine stalled with the sound of the mantra breaking up and then returning but slowing to half speed…fear overtook him briefly from his vulnerability being alone in the woods at night…but he shook it off….but not really..his mind was strong..but not really…he could hold a candle to any darkness…but not really…and he knew it…but still he trudged ahead the way any donkey would…he dragged the big clunky thing into the trunk…

    the station was only 5.3 miles away but it didn’t open for another 45 minutes…he drove and got coffee…the girl behind the counter had two beautiful blonde braids down across her shoulders to her chest…her friendly tired face bore a striking feminine resemblance to Willem Dafoe…whose eyes he had met while walking down 14th street one brisk afternoon…one of those beautiful fall days where you get to put on a jacket….

    continuing on he got to the transfer station…and to his pleasant surprise wasn’t charged a fee…the caffeine was exhilarating as he drove back homeward…he thought about the new symptoms in his eyes…like looking inside of a fish tank full of water…how light appears…like rainbows around the edges of the coral…he thought about the black evil in his heart
    because of his deep resentment and jealousy and the curses that this ugliness might lay upon him…but the exhilaration of the country drive…the grey early morning dawn…and the influence of the caffeine…he could embrace going blind…he would take his newfound interest in lemurian and atlantean crystals…and witchcraft…with him…as useless as thst would be he needed to feel hope, like he too could be powerful and pure…filled with light…one day…maybe he could find a girlfriend then, who knows? anything is possible…so he would travel to india as a blind trembling white man looking for a cheap wife…he would then seek out the man that performed the fire ritual for 16 hours …who reached into the fire with ghee slime up to his forearms…like he was delivering a baby cow…who wept as he meditated…adorned with flowers…and laid into the fire and wasn’t burned…he cried briefly at the prospect of this…that he too could have power plus buy an inexpensive wife…all in India..one day…

    now back up the long winding road to write it all down…the blackness of the dress…pure emptiness…like he could have reached inside…and the lonesome sound of that cold wind blowing from inside of her…could there be the sound of wind in the black eternity of space…the magic doesn’t lie…only I do.

  4. I have not been able to read much really. like i broke my phone in half. now i have a stupid phone. i use my life proof case as a hair tie. i let people lie for me who’s lying? i’m not dying

  5. * There was no place to reply *
    but i’m gonna try anyway…

    -Ring that bell over and over again –

    With what there is to contend with day after day,
    The all too deranged and intolerable
    that is expected to accepted as norm –
    It has become a subtle yet obvious slide into a place of no return
    unless i accept with diligence and complete and utter resolve to –
    Lay on that bell like a raging fire
    until the neighborhood of lost souls
    wake up and wail – ” WTF? ”
    Mother, grant me the power to
    induce and fan the flames of yet another epic burning bush
    ringing that bell like a batshit crazy avon lady
    trying to make her quota
    who just won’t take no for an answer
    ding dong, ding dong…
    Standing on that doorstep
    With or without a welcome mat
    Knocking till my knuckles bleed
    Pressing that buzzer until the prints vanish from my finger tips
    “Somebody’s knocking at the door,
    Somebody’s ringing the bell..”
    It’s just little ol’ me.
    Not going away
    committed to
    Stay, stay, stay
    from now until doomsday
    come what may.
    Ma, can You hear me calling out to You?
    let me in,
    Save me
    Please
    You are my only hope.

        1. Why can’t you just be you? Why the second guessing and self slamming?!
          only you are down on you and you should
          get high and learn to fly above the fear
          of not being liked and accepted…
          it’s usually a high school thing…
          really. Stop being hateful to yourself-
          the world is within- so think about it…
          love,
          krishna in a nutshell

          1. I thought I was being me.
            It’s the way you responded that was puzzling
            I am flying high and am not feeling afraid
            and certainly don’t hate myself.
            It seems more like you are slamming me
            Sizing me up and comparing me to teenage behavior.
            Why do you think that I am worried about not being liked?
            Why are you being so hard on me?
            I am just trying my best to be a hero like everybody else.

          2. “Nope just a fuckface fool who regrets writing the above gibberish”

            you didn’t call yourself a fuckface fool?
            and what you wrote was gibberish?

            that’s “loving yourself and not hating yourself?”

            I was serious about Avon- haven’t heard about that since my mother used to sell and
            buy it-

            Hard on you? no, believe me: I am not.
            just ask Megan…or Shane…or…
            lighten up Maria, you’re getting too intense
            in a way that isn’t beneficial for you.

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