there was only his dark hand covering her empty face

You have to see the big picture.

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I am a remnant of a person. Just a frame without a picture. My self portrait. An emptiness like another night fills my bones. Eyes, I. Chaos sits next to me, peacefully drawing. What am I, who did you see leaving. Bones hollow like shells on an anchorless shore. Come back to me, come back. I enter the white out….asleep. That weird place inbetween where I ask, “is something wrong?” I felt someone pull away, was it me. I guess I imagined the separation, I guess it’s just the night in our bones once again. Even after I took off the ring, my finger was red and it hurt that I’d done it at all. Leave the shore, vows of loss all over again. I had once believed in a love beyond the heavy forms of this world, I gave my breaking heart to a god I can’t see. The god who supposedly brings us back to find each other in the most unlikely places. The god that hurts us, makes us feel hollow, takes the love back, pours it out the eyes of another. My eyes are closed to their faces. Death always comes in new faces. Don’t be afraid, I’m harmless and young. The other world calls and you are in it churning the old from the new. Despite yourself there is a beauty so unreachable. Intangibly held in a softness inside, who will touch me. Miraculously I could feel two become one. You, the one inside my feet and hands, touching the things I can’t bare mysterious unknowable beloved. There is nothing inside you but me. The words I feel that see, the four sides diamond. He knows I know he knows. Not words, here there are only eyes. I drew them as myself. Many of them four dimensional like midnight flowers opening into a secret place. My trembling human hand is in the way. I remember the night he slowly moved it, the memory of a hand that blocked my light. A wall of light fell from above me and the pain of something unbearably lost was remembered. I had forgotten from beyond then, who I hid from inside me. I may have forgotten who has found me. Too many places bearing too many words. I can’t turn back without sadness and look at you without all that watches me from within. The dreams you enter are like the picture, my door into your tunnel of eyes…and you left me to sleep, a pile in your arms, naked the room grew cold and dark without you. The kind of dark you can’t see through. I am still wondered what was wrong…

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the police had been there and they were harboring a convict but the room was pretty. Flowers were hanging from the ceiling. Vines, like in Antigua. I remember the white blossoms. I heard your voice there telling me you love me. When I returned from a long journey I needed to find my parents because they held the key to my house and I had nowhere else to stay. I had been with the old buddhists and other holy book people but that was the past. I had to come back, to this house. So I found where they lived. The black man had been caught and as the door opened I saw my mother’s face in my head. Holy faces were there too. I thought as I wondered why I’d do this, come back I mean. No, this feeling about her, this face you don’t want to see, this repulsion (which at the time I felt very good because it wasn’t all that hard to take) is your spiritual path – just like turbulent airplanes, scorpions, the grief of passing love, abandonment. His eyes of secret wisdom brought me here. This is the path and this is the house and they have the key. You kept saying I love you, digging with the words, deep into my ear. No one has ever really loved me not that I can believe. Not out loud but quietly as it seeps into dark places like them. Mother and Father, both killers in their own special ways. So I know you, stop saying I’m wrong. Obviously I feel uncomfortable in that penetration- and yet, nearly addictively, I do it again and again. Healing the murderers one by one. Graphically engaging the fragment who is entirely giving. Afterwards I went inside and they were fine, just fine taking it all. Just themselves and I was me. I was not afraid and they did not pull me in to their faces or spaces. To get to the house there was a narrow path, almost through a tight valley you could say, at one point- where two sides meet. This path warned of deadly winds but I had to pass through it. It was clear there is no turning back. The death winds howled and whipped violently. There were fragments of me as images of something else, but I knew these bodies were mine and I moved through them without anything on. They would form from out of the winds of my mind and then dissipate into it again so that a new image was formed even more ominous and rapid than the last. I don’t know why I had no fear. The wind was much stronger than I and yet my body was not blown from it’s steps. Which, is all I was seeing, the light at the end. You could call it a knowing of the peace that needs no peace. Just another house where they waited and I was caught in the drama so I had to enter the past as if no gap existed and I had to see them differently. And I mean see from a depth so hidden that we feel differently without even trying. I could also say feel from a depth we see differently, more deeply feeling into the wind that howls through our souls. The wind that blows us into haunted places we thought we left behind. These large night animals have powerful and sexy bodies that never change, never grow old, never disappear, only we do. It is not spacial, it is dimensional. That is why he stands in the diamond doorway as he does, with a diamond in his forehead and with earthly diamond eyes just so you’ll recognize him and your current beings can love like that. Through the color of watery eyes. This valley filled with ancient winds, the wicked of this man embodied in animals ghosts, I am not afraid and must get to the other side.

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My mother has the key to my house. A house I left long ago. A house I must return to and wait for your love. Your love waits for me there. I’ve been gone, searching for a very long time for my self portrait. This face I can’t see, find. Eyes everywhere crying. Eyes watching the dew. Your eyes who always knew me. From the beginning, forgetting before. Entangled in another’s vines, black straps, another’s body. And we promise to never forget. Even movies are made, but we do. Young pretty animal skin, fingers entwined, promises we could never mean. If we found who we had been looking for. I knew when I saw, that part of you in my face- that you’d rather forget me, but now it’s too late. I said, “turn back, you don’t have to do this yet. There is time, find another promise. At least for now before the wind gets cold and you can play in her field of golden flower sunlight pretending the night will never come.” Never knowing the valley, the crooked path with a deadly wind that is less than a mile away. “Redeemer, undo me.” What does it mean. My hand drops inside, my emptiness goes low and hidden. See what you want to see, make me you. Make me her. Make me anyone you need. So I’ve been in this unknown place body upon body. Knowing we are invisible. Endlessly reaching for you, whoever is there. In the dark, bringer of light. Do you know me. Beyond what is now as you see, no before or after. There is my footsteps through the terrible wind all alone. And this house I have never had that was mine. And this key my mother held, her twisted face transfixed in my mind. The truth is, I don’t know. I can’t remember the house of my own. I only had a dream you were there perfectly waiting. And because of you I could find a place to be even though existence denied it was so. I could imagine you, warm love. Because nothing could be without me, is the truth where I go by your empty hand. Black tear…she has no home…

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besides me in these pages. Don’t feel sad anymore, the crying is done. We came to find why things end, how we hold them and pull them inside. Like this invisible kitten, she is so little like me, her heart purrs for love, like mine. I want to say that I feel there is nothing left to do, but I keep going and I write stories about worlds inside that seem more real and important than the gloom I inhabit. Sometimes the sun shines through the thick cloud of my mood, I just watch the birds sing with hope, I feel the shadow before it is seen. I have these animals I collect within that embody an aspect of this force of nature that sweeps through devouring me daily. How I get up, why I’m even still here is what poetry is made of. How stories become journeys,
how a song becomes alive. How the night calls me from inside of the house. And so I go, enchanted by the very source of my ending…

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I like to go outside late at night. I open the door and am enveloped by the relief of pitch black. Absorbing the darkness and the stars feels as close as I can get to God. Just so that I can disappear into the night, nothing else is real. Into the invisibility of sheer cold aloneness without demand or position, without playing mother or someone, I’m tired of being. I feel understood by the shadow of bone trees- jagged and rising from her womb. I was looking for a job this morning, I’m not qualified for anything. Obscure and not needed by the day’s lit world, I know there are roots here in the quiet of death, I can find my deep place where no one is looking but me. Tonight, I enter the tomb of the day, it is night all around. I should feel cold, but like a snake, I do not. This familiar night is inside of me as I breathe out the white mist and I know, there isn’t anybody out here, not tonight, that isn’t inside. Tonight is very cold and vivid, quivering bright with answers to mysteries. Prophecy owls were hiding in the sound of rain, I was hiding in the hand of my emptiness landscape, all I can be sure of is this night. I can confirm nothing else from inside but for this. An emptiness fills my bones. I keep telling you this because there are implications in my condition too vast to be understood for the first time. I know what it means to be silent and yet with so much to say, nothing moves. So silent the wild rages and yet my eyes never move. The subtlety of the unspoken realm is unbearably acute. My urge to erase myself from this page, is the most penetrating urge of all. What is heard has no space from what is said. I am curled in the black, little coil, with only my fears and my beauty. “Will you sit next to me here?” A voice came of of nowhere, nowhere is where he watches me from. “Will we love each other forever?” I wouldn’t know how to do it any other way. So I just stood there listening to my heart which was everywhere. He is hidden in the veils. You only know him when he feels your love beyond body or mind. When you give up yourself into the loss. When pain is not felt as hurting but as fire. As the fire that hides in the dark waiting to be born from between them. Like a purr, a whisper of death seeming harmless. Soft and underneath all the suffering is his touch. I stood feeling what loss truly gives. Some great undeniable greatness beyond my capacity to bear while alive. Yet I’m here, pulsating waves of an empty nothing. Everything taken, ripped open, removed from my life. Leaving this. The door opens and I am sucked into where I come from. The black vortex of night streaming jewels. I cannot say what she is born from or where she will go. I cannot say what she looks like or how old she is. If any man will ever love her. If any child ever cared. I smell the darkness of her neck, I feel her fingers over my lips. “Be quiet.” These tears are silent like the stars. And there was no moon tonight, there was only his dark love covering her empty face. Sharada Devi

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22 thoughts on “there was only his dark hand covering her empty face”

  1. What is this if not the end. Just an image.
    The White Horse. Moving on teeth, like a screen.

    Teeth as me. Like I have them. And at least know how to use them. Before it all goes black. Eating the hero.

    I heard the rumbling of your return. An image felt, through teeth (or empty bones) Sunlight is just our love, felt when I am seen, and I am looking.

    The day goes on, because there is more to the moon than what can be touched by man. Which reminds me of how I was thinking about you, as more than human. And as I typed this, I sat down on a hum. A machine covered, felt below. I sit in the sun.

    I get up and I think that our love must be something more. Looking through.

    Sacrifice before the day is done. Lover take me. Through. Where I am standing, in a door of light. You come through. And I am the taker.

    You in the end…light on a tombstone. A face carved in the dark, felt when the day was done. Given up like bones bright in the disappearing sun. Fire in a cold laugh. Silent love, quiet end siren. Ash before us, we made. Child run, free, from my breaking heart, the home that will be gone when you return.

    1. did you get my note? it’s no sacrifice.
      it’s no ending. it’s no broken light. it’s no black ring around the moon, it’s nothing like that. it’s just a mystical doorway that goes as deep as you can bare.

  2. You are such a talented writer.

    I had a dream once where i climbed up a rope. And below it were my parents. That was an easy one.Then the rope turned to barbed wire and and my flesh bled and ripped.And I fell. To go to the next level. Is more painful than pain itself.

    You will come out the other end. The womb is a tunnel of darkness. Where the fetus gets bitten by bacteria. But then there is light.
    For a brief moment in time.Catch the flicker of God’s blink.

      1. Sometimes life feels like a long diluted endless march to calvary. We arent even close to being crucified. When will the final nail be pounded in and the spear thrown to knock us out once and for all. Well some believe He never died. So we cant either. We have to face this agonizing excruciating pain with absolute awareness. No ansthesia. And in due time ye shall bear the fruit of eons of suffering. The biggest black berries are in the thorniest parts of the,bush. Petsist my dear dear friend.

  3. Thank you for holding the unbearable and may it give birth to that which nourishes love. Thank you to Garuda, for living in this realm and being here.

    1. and thank you to you Uma who is the mysterious ocean of bottomless beauty,
      containing things we’ve never seen,
      holding love we’ve never held,
      bringing the dark back to life.
      My prayers go to you who feels
      the grace of the deep. LOVE♥️

  4. Noy a reply, a letter.
    Dear Sharada,
    I plan on coming to Mt Shasta and will be glad to see you there. As with the others, I hold you in my heart and in my prayers. I pray that you will be fulfilled and healthy and that your yearning for service will come to fruition. I have looked back in gratitude for the creativity and the expressiveness –the divine self–that you have pulled put of me. And it has
    been extraordinary, a great blessing, to see you pull it ftom others. And I remember also how you worked on me, your energy, your muscle and your breath as you worked on me in Guatemala. I still have the flower you left on me. I could not explain what happened to me then. I hope I keep it with me.
    The last three retreats have been wonderful to me and I look forward to what comes next. Your spirit is so strong and true that I trust it will find a place where it can work and connect with others who have at least some grasp of who you are and what you bring to the world.
    love love love Many Roses!
    Sita Devi

    1. Dear Sita Devi,
      I am so happy to hear you’re coming to Mount Shasta. And thank you for the feedback on the crystal sessions, most people just left looking dazed and never said a word…and so I am thankful for you to share your experience as I can be confirmed of its usefulness and effectiveness. It is intended to be deeply tberapeutic and act as a catalyst for a higher power of healing to be transferred to the recipient- I am acting only as a transmitter- and it’s a delicate, subtle and sensitive transmission that moves the electricity -kundalini within the body. The gentle and all pervading goddess through the channels unblocking, balancing and freeing the rivers of light within. And I am once again happy you received the blessings of the mother light and I am happy also to announce I have help with the food preparations and so am offering these sssions once again in Mount Shasta in June! I believe in the power of this light. I hope you can one day see the crystal Tara I got in India. She was carved from one huge and pure Himalayan crystal by an old Tibetan man who knew the art, did her mantra with devotion and made her to have the most beautiful face. She is a very potent crystal goddess filled with magical blessings. One day I will put her upon a golden throne covered in white flowers in a room filled with red roses and flowing water…and we will sing her melody and become angels…we will float to the ceiling casting rainbows that will heal this sad dark world and she will simply sit there…being herself. Beautiful serene and timeless holding us in her grace. And I hope it happens soon! I love you very much. And thank you for the moonlight upon the waters of my heart Sita Devi.

      1. Sensitivity within word
        Created rainbow flow.
        Moonlit perfection moving
        Us all in motion,
        Delicate music
        Violin sending a goddess dressed in white, down the river by me
        So that I can give what little tears
        I have to the river I see

        (It is a sad and dark world
        But you move through it
        And brighten me
        That we could float
        And free
        The weight of shadow
        You, underneath,
        Me)

        https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3SpG7C4vHZQ

  5. When i went to calcutta, i visted the mother/aurobindo ashram. I bought one of those thin pamphlets that the indian ashrams always sell. There was a quote written by the mother that i will always remember in times of suffering: “More suffering = more grace.”

    1. MORE SUFFERING MORE GRACE.
      Edgy and yet divine.
      Makes me think of whips and chains
      and monks locked in boxes. Prayers by
      broken hearted mothers and the eyes of saints eternally here just to love us.
      Simultaneously it must be GOD. All in my arms- baby lamb Jesus and the tattooed man with two horns- his teeth filed into fangs…of course I know him! Seems we all inflict and enforce suffering and so then grace must be when we know why…pure tears.
      ♥️
      everyone wants to see you in mount shasta
      Pablo too…

      1. I would love to come. Right now it feels like a huge expense…I’m having a hard enough time trying to satisfy my on and off again Guayaki addiction! 🙂

      1. isn’t that the question.. for me at least.

        I had a similar experience recently. I was in the forest for once.. I knew or hoped that even if I was sinner, the trees at least wouldn’t protest me being there. Or maybe if should be dead, they would do it themselves. That would be right. I found a tall tree circle. I sat in the middle hoping, that someone something would just let me be. I came back to the car and the biggie song was.. better than usual.. even now diving even deeper in the gym yoga room, or my bed or sprouts line. My ride is something else and also something together..

        Am I really better off day pretending?

  6. Tears run colors from THIS heart. A free flowing spirit clothed in flesh, led only by a Love that endures – away from a life that dis-appears. I am a compass guided only by the master needle on this pathless path. May we all find God’s grace, forevermore.

  7. Dearest Sharada Devi, you and I have not yet met, but I felt compelled to respond as I feel the essence of your words and writing infusing into my soul. These words that you are pouring…the liquidy smoothness of consciousness flowing from the carafe of your experience…through them I feel my soul moved deeply. It is a profound and deeply uncomfortable movement twitching in the inner depths of a new DNA that’s been recently installed within the emptiness of who I am.

    I feel you.

    I feel this boundless capacity you are able to hold (so capable of holding) , and also, I feel how holding this has ripped you asunder…maybe. Maybe not. You still seem firmly rooted in the experience of human be-ing. But it’s clear you’ve been holding a lot. Being a lot. Maintaining a lot. So much so that it sounds as though parts of you are wandering lost and destroyed, or grown over, like what happens to those ruins deep in jungles. Buried, even, by dense overgrowth that comes with time.

    But in reading all this, I can still feel the you in you. The you that’s still you, even in the breadth of the infinite emptiness of the void(s). Like that star you can’t really see when you look at it directly in the sky. But when you sort of blur your focus, and look through the periphery it becomes clear. You are. There is no question.

    The motherlight cannot exist without the velvety darkness of the womb, nor the blood that collects there with precision timing.
    Sending you love.

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