the torture of relentless bliss


i want to find out what this is. why we call it god. how to get there. the end, send me. i want to find out where we go when we turn the wrong way, if there is one. i want to see through the force field that’s holding me in submission. i want to kill the sinner but not the sin. i want to burn without fire and eat without dying to have.
i want a blue sky body with lights and no bones. i want to know why i want, exactly as she speaks. her open hands, her paradigm shifting. this is a bit about the shade and what creates shadows. this is a bit about me and my questions i ask without listening. for you go the other way at the crossing. for you become the other one at the convergence. between two crushed metaphorical hearts i sit breaking and thinking of curses and the thoughts i fondle to stroke the guilt that rises because i got sentenced to a human body and feeling right about this isn’t natural or effortless. to sustain control over urges, to not need, to let go, to break and to hunt. to destroy your only child. and i am looking for the riddle’s beginning, psychologically speaking. this god, this urge to blaspheme the source of supposed blessing. this fear of the damning. this recoil that results in dangerous fucking. of animals and children, symbolically speaking. you can go to hell for being yourself you know. if you ever happened to find out who that might be, better yet. how close you might get to the roots of the born again tree. i, thought i, yes i, the wounded ghost girl could find myself in something. and i do mean a pure something held by a better than i someone. no such luck or god on my side. only more bad dreams and pain held between legs that eventually turned cold. icy legs that become segmented like a spider who sees. a want that becomes all consuming like a woman cast from the light, a source of darkness too forbidden to enter. i can think of nothing but her. a body undressed, a shape drawn in red, for all the wrong thoughts unwritten but heard. now you see me, now you don’t. obviously i could have it all, every curse ever known in those pages, ever written by god’s righteous burning hand. i said, “i simply want to know, what’s up and what’s down…god…if that’s really your name.” why is that wrong, to sift through the left overs. it’s over because we know that we know. i simply think i should do what i want out in a big field…and write my own commandments. if i’m the lost one seeking a savior, it should be me i find. no matter how unqualified or how unsexy. old is old. better is better. pages just don’t turn by themselves and messiahs just don’t flip on the switch one day that says, “exit here.” why should i believe. why should i wait for a bad movie to end. why should i listen to you. i would like to find out why i want what i can’t fathom. this insanity, on top of it all. has been outlined on page after page. as if it ever could. the ambition is stupefying. i am defying gravity. known as her outlaw basically. this is a set up of a very graphic and perverse order and once i find the loophole, i’m getting in and taking over. much like the wrath of a virus. that, i feel, is the closest i might get, on a good day, to my hypothetical maker. yes, my brain surges to be supreme and my heart draws smiley rainbows all over the place due to misunderstanding. there is a need for a new alignment. a cloud that drops low. there is a bolt that strikes. a supreme alliance. and i’m looking. high and low for the prophet that i redeemed by being born in my own mess. again, as the forgotten one. skinny puppy, bony premature dog. it’s a metaphor for the horny enlightened creature that only want to help me yet i resist the urge to merge. to touch the deep sea sky body of unicorns and boyfriends. just a girl with suicidal tendencies wearing no underwear. flirting with danger and poisons. i have always been an accidental flasher. yes, i know there are no accidents, only riddles spreading their legs for men’s open eyes. and so, i have decided to be brave and go where no me has ever gone. into her sacred valley of no return, not like this. and i know i’m worshipping something. it’s truly not a he or a she. i speak in these terms due to narcissism for religion’s sake and for a deeper understanding of you. i know i’m asking what we’ve done to the soul, with the lightening that stops throbbing hearts. could this be real, embodied by me, a price tag, a god giving head. my skin bursts with a violent light and my muscles ache with the need to be bigger, inside where she hits me. hard. always asking, “who are you now! who are you now!” she, meaning the question mark over my materialized human head. me about to burst inside. she, meaning the answer that frees me, wants me to show her who my demented, fermented, genius self is once it’s over. i once replied, “i am a memory, i am your lover.” “wrong! try again.” then i said, “i am the new moon hiding my horns.” apparently it is an exact equation. the one being born on the other side while simultaneously dying is still here, in a sequence that knows it’s mystical math. it seems to be as simple as the one asking and yet unattainably piercing. the way the lines cut and move electricity, is how screaming brightly we become. so i found it’s a matter of sustaining the friction and not being ashamed of the penetration that is the inevitable result of attraction. it is said that opposites attract. but first they must get to know each other. hence, we visit the lustful earth. and pay for time with a contrary god…and in this body of warring stars we die fighting for peace, which will never happen. and so what i seek to find is found in this…the torture of relentless bliss.

sharada devi


27 thoughts on “the torture of relentless bliss”

  1. I don’t know how to untie my captive body
    of knots. Or maybe these knots I can’t see are magnets, because they are pulling so hard, toward and away from each other. As we do. I don’t know. I can’t see. It’s dark without you, my fire…anyway, I was thinking…untie me. Burn through it all. I want to be your wood until you make me your fire…

    then, last night I learned that wood doesn’t crackle, it just burns quietly seething.. “Burn without fire,” you said to me then…well, that’s a whole other level of flames, another mother of light accidentally- but it’s real, deep inside me, writing without thinking and hot without warmth. You understand the dilemma that pulls; these unearthly heat seeking magnets. So I say, before the rage of burning, you are the fire beneath and above me. The one who starts and ends it all- inside and out. Quietly seething in my embers- then nothing but me as your ash.

    How do I even read this with the bliss of you filling me with every hot word? Remember when you said, that I was…”forever fucked by you.” and I replied that your damning was music to my ears. Well this post is music to my body. Really. Like your words are simmering…a red river of light, flowing into where I am the precipice. Like your mouth is in mine…filling a lake full of fire.

    You come to me. I can go nowhere else. It must go on, this ending of me. Me, beyond the mystical into the clear light of the extraordinary mundane. Exacting space into holy sacrament. You wrote, “opposites attract, but first they must get to know each other.” Well, I am here and bearing down on the wood. With my eyes dead red and centered on the space of invisible, indivisible flames that surround me from every gray and dying little corner. I light the candles because I now know. The space that takes the friction back is me bright with fury. Without anyone else I have you as my fire rising. My God fire that will never die.

      1. I’m searching myself deeply. Entering the ice cave that no one thought was real. For her, the one who I heard, did it herself. Following a distant voice, moving in me, seducing my outward mind back to the quiet evil of untouched splendor. How the ball of god that produced me, will take me back. -I am thinking about those movies where the hands reach up from hell, but hell is out. So reach. Me, making headway, into an unknowable… place, following a shimmer smile, or a distant… memory of the one I get back up for. I am the dark blue warrior, who takes what he has done on his shoulders, and it’s not glamorous. It’s heavy because no one else can lift it. The feelings avoided or the grey accepted, like a cold you didn’t think you could fight. The disease of this planet that is falling apart. Behind the scenes. All the scenes of family and happiness. Avoidance of pain and true strength. It leaves me with a hole in myself. Where my journey begins, without end… just more truth embodied, somehow, through it all. Like she was standing before me. Bright eyed, unstoppable. Somehow not needing to sleep, or wake… floating, through me. Ghost in the flesh. Ghost of my future, staring down my past. Then the bright, moment. Fades, into the back. “No ground” she said. That’s where… where it happens… all the extremes, between us… This isn’t going anywhere else. And it doesn’t make sense. What I am saying. Needed to be said. Just another step. Into the painful light of fearlessness. For its own sake. To carry on, everything that’s been said, into the unspeakable. Made manifest in the one who has gone. Who brought it back for the ones I’ve been. Now I stand still, until I move in…if I can…remain through wishful thinking and changes on paper.

          1. Standing, I could feel the light slipping off my fingers. You dripping off me, the creator taking away a little fearful image like, “you don’t want me.” Don’t you understand. Who’s asking who. At least for a moment. Spacious like this song; dark moving light.

        1. This is about a writer. Who, as a young man, didn’t know there was even a story. But thankfully for him, as it is sometimes the case, someone that must have been very powerful, was involved from behind the scenes. This someone brewed a special tea that would awaken something that moved through the ages. That inspired countless stories, but went largely repressed.

          The writer began to see characters that he knew…angelic characters…well, at least one.. and mythical beings… burgeoning forces, blossoming, waiting for something. To be expressed, to be seen.

          As he sat down, in front of a river, a scene opened in his mind…

          “There was a swan, moving on a quiet body of water. I could barely make out it’s shape because it was black, and the sun was just beginning to rise. But as I caught a glimpse of its eyes, my heart leapt. Those eyes…must have been completely red and they were moving towards me. Or at least I thought so, when I saw another swan. Moving even slower…This one I could make out clearly, as it was so close. And brilliantly white.”

          Inexperienced, the writer had to stop. There was a road behind him that was loud and calling him to return home. And the river where the vision took place, could only be seen so far… What this meant is that his story would have to be told, in time, when the road would again turn toward the river. He returned differently, no longer driving on a road that seemed endlessly winding. Through neighborhoods and speed limits. Now he had pages, full of words, moving freely.

          “No more dead ends.” He thought…

          1. thank you! ♥️ it’s very healing as you know to make writing a daily practice- it purifies the mind and settles the emotions…taking us to the landscapes within…where anything is possible, where the river can flows once the damn breaks…the damn is fear of black birds with red eyes I suppose….we all know who that is…that would be the dead end, the black swan with the red eyes. Of course in my story the black horse with red eyes was my vehicle and my source of primal power…

  2. Your voice is the key that unlocks the door of your heart………mantra feeds you….it purifies your mind river of endless thoughts
    about past and future. She is the Lotus flower……. He is the jewel mani wheel that spins the dawn into light. We are surrounded by the energy field of our thoughts……… the Mani Lama heals you of hunger. SHE feeds you the pure sound of the Mani. The vulture Guru is always looking for the next bloody meal. The world is the Pure Land…….I am here writing this in the charnal ground of Starbucks……you know bucks for the star. The Pure Land it is, when I breath the mantra of the Guru out into the space of suchness, because where else could it be but HERE NOW. This moment of rainbow paints and latte foam like flowers in the sky clouds,,,, here comes the golden rain of Mahakala.
    bhagavan Das dakini heart breath bliss

    1. Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme HumOm Man i Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum..
      ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT TIMES TEN ….around and around and around and around we go…spiraling up and up and up….to the sacred space of HOLINESS….open up to never land and inward to THE HEART LAND….

  3. the torture of relentless bills…I walk at night through blurry darkness to go pee…I feel the sharp bones stabbing my lower back…the old familiar flat feet…I feel the uselessness of my eyes…as a blind black blurry nothing moving through grey matter…like the future afterlife…as a soul sleepwalking through nothing…clueless to what it’s looking for…just wandering in darkness…pacing back and forth…a white sheet covering a girl with black greasy hair pulled over her face…barefoot…just like in the movies…my soul will wander lost and aimlessly…like the dull light at the top of the stairs…where the memory of mother calls out…wilting flowers in a vase…she’s screaming at the trap closing…she thought life would always be kind…and never let the ugliness of reality inside to affect her…she’s old now and nobody can stop the cruelty within the final pages from turning…her son is an unemployed 38 year old cripple…addicted to pornography…never had a real girlfriend…the type you’d suspect of being a mass murderer…but he isn’t…

    Om Mani Padme Hum

    1. Shane. However cold and deathly you think you are, these aren’t the words of a defeated “cripple” but of a soulful artist.
      Beautiful and captivating lyric inspiring deep feeling and genuine truth. Seriously your calling like I’ve always said…

  4. the pornstars are all committing suicide or overdosing on drugs…this makes me believe that Satan is real…some of these girls never had a chance…they were abused as children…then they get into an industry for god knows what reason…then the devil returns to collect his due…with lesions on their once pretty faces…and plastic surgery on their mouth and cheeks gone wrong…because they defile themselves over and over again…until they’re famous for it…they can’t go out in public without men recognizing them…I saw one scurrying away in an airport…Atlanta I think…I thought to myself hey isn’t that that one girl…

    I drink my tea in the morning now at my desk…right as I get out of bed at 10:45am…half the day is gone…but I don’t let that stop me…I have incense and a lighter in the drawer…I light the incense with the lighter in my left hand…I say lord Jesus Christ son of God have mercy upon me three times as I light it…then i take the flame and I say WHOAM…. gamganapatayanamaha….WHOAM….gamganapatayanamaha….WHOAM…. gamganapatayanamaha…my voice is very deep that soon after waking…it feels so right…I love it…how can anything that feels that good be wrong…I imagine an elephant head on my desk that isn’t there…just smoky incense and blank wall…I imagine all of the obstacles that are sure to be removed with this type of powerful invocation…

    later on I walked outside with a ton of laundry and realized my car had been towed…I paid $145 to get it out…then I found out later I can’t use the washing machine at my mothers because there’s a clogged drain…so I had to go to a laundrymat…

    WHOAM…. gamganapatayanamaha….WHOAM….gamganapatayanamaha….WHOAM…. gamganapatayanamaha…

    1. I think it’s better here for everyone to read…people like you whether you can imagine that or not. Younger men look up to you because they can relate to your suffering…and so I got all your texts and I think, like I’ve always said, you should
      put it here rather than an email. It’s good
      material and deeper, more helpful to others than you realize. You have a transformative effect through meaningful emotionally honest and insightful words, self inquiry and especially unique creativity. Genius really. Sorry about the car. Ganesh is mysterious, you know that!

      1. I agree with Sharada Devi. I love your writing, Shane. I can relate to you, believe it or not. I love how deep and raw and real you get….Confession here…I used to be addicted (semi) to gay porn (men) and I am straight. It was the only thing that could keep me interested in anyone….no matter how “hot” they were….

        1. This is INTERESTING! GOD. now we’re REALLY GETTING SOMEWHERE! All my efforts bearing
          the shadow fruit of alchemical solvent!
          Sending ENDLESS LOVE♥️♥️😹♥️♥️

  5. God is light…light has no human attributes…light is everywhere…light doesn’t forgive…because light doesn’t judge…

  6. Shane I agree with everyone here! Keep writing, Reading the comment thread here makes me feel like I’m surfing waves, pitted in water caves, finding balance through fluid words that sometimes hurts but it’s truth, truth that transforms.

    So stoked I am here and you are here and we are all here together

  7. Words pulled from the depths of my being. Deep into the knowing of unknowing, holding onto “figuring it all out”.
    Circles. Spirals. Infinity. Constant.
    The search for a Nobody that is nowhere and everywhere.
    Trust. Faith. Love.
    Love FULLY, why the fuck not? There’s no point, otherwise. What’s the hangup? Clean that out of the way. Where will the “mess” go?
    “Bless This Mess”. Joke. Smoke. Confess💖. Not “perfect”. WTF. LOVE. search. Forget. Remember. On. Off.
    It doesn’t matter. It DOES. Everything matters. “Everything is Everything”.
    It will never be enough, so why bother? Because that is the point. To never have it figured out. To BE a nobody who knows nothing. Empty. “Empty shell”. Conch. Warrior cry of my heart. Endurance. Letting go. BEING. Feeling. Stopping unnecessary judgments of myself. Bullshit being called.
    The night of the New Moon I woke up from hearing a telephone ringing in my dream. Maybe Bullshit called ME? I felt different since then. I can’t place it, a slight and suttle shift in the puzzle pieces.
    “Hello darkness, my old friend”. I actually don’t even like that song. Darkness, what does that even mean? Murders? Killing? What? Death? No.
    Empty shell singing a battle cry into the valley of forestry. Sorcery songs from a heart space. I Love You, She said. I know. Now. This. That. All of it. Shit, even. Love. That is it.

    Hearts and rainbows are still my favorite. 😸

    1. Dear Bhakti Devi
      Association is everything. Don’t be misled into places you be best not to wander…
      you should come to India with us…we are sad you missed Guatemala. It would have been so perfect for you. We are here now. Listen to my words. Through the ethers all is seen heard and known…♥️Sharada Devi

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *