these places within

tangled ball of black knots

a crack that breaths
a pressure that suffocates
a finger that hides the hole in the wall
these walls that surround me
this home of dead bodies
stuck to the floor
in patterns disguised…

my eyes sear the space
that once held me stainless
and my touchless mind
crouches low
hiding from the stain
of my thoughts…

where I couldn’t remember you
the sound of your heart
beating breath
into sky and beyond
into places bodies never formed
into voices never bled by my hands…

a grip around my throat
a gasping for your air
a picture of you dangles
like a dead autumn leaf…

and it’s ok
because I’m not looking for life
I’m looking for the eyes
that see through me
watching me die
in a pattern unseen…

on the other side of the room
where no one ever goes
but me and my hands
crawling backwards…

blood on my bended knees
hurts more than you know
these wounds made by me
and my family of ghosts…

should I fall into you
now and forget the before?
before this before that
before me made of guts…

chips in the porcelain cup
wrinkles in skin made of white
grinding teeth tongues that bite…

I haven’t found my home
in these pages of you…

reading slowly letters fall
it means nothing
but that sometimes things break…

you couldn’t roll my heart across the floor if you tried. You couldn’t slip something into my drink. You couldn’t ever fool me with your witchcraft.

I made where I’ve gone just for me
like a snake makes a hole in the desert. I’ve done what I’ve done like a snake who grows wiser with every scared mouse that he swallows.

Believe me, I’m not hungry anymore.
Believe me, I growl because I want to…

digesting the varmint
a snake blows the sheep
deep without you causing trouble…

I live in the place where mold grows
as I peel back the skin of your lies…

I sit and I stare at the words of the risen and I silently groan back at the dead in my life…

I found a way that makes it all ok
I found a hurt that is greater than the loss of my soul. I found the place that I fit…

where it doesn’t matter if you’re right
it only matters that my blood stays cold and my fingers remain digits…

and my scaled skin stays dry as I remember myself buried beneath the shallow grave of this fly ridden house…

where ghosts form from bodies made of smoke where skeletons dance in front of mirrors and where I wait to be seen by you, if ever again…

rotten and forgotten with only sockets and a pitchfork shimmer…

you haven’t see the end of me. I hang from every last word of your description and I eat shit like a demon…

Certain Death has a face my beautiful friend. And it’s not your heaven death, it’s my father. My father who built this house with my bare hands.

Thank you for your feedback, now fuck off…

mirror mirror on the wall.


Creative self expression is freedom of movement and accesses the recesses of our heart and our memory laden subconscious. The freedom of this alchemical and transformative movement is that we create beauty from pain and we transform our tears into streams of radiant soul light. I write the blog material in the manner that I do- not because I’m schizophrenic or need a place to deposit my self indulgent directionless ramblings- there is a direction, a point and a place. There is a story and a moral to the story- and there is a voice from the deep that is wise in it’s scope and ability to draw heaven from hell and inspire new growth.

It is these places that haunt us within that hold our greatest treasures. I can write literally and “teach” what I know based on direct learning and life experienced wisdom- but truly, the mood and feeling from the creative cavern of the ancient soul is of more value ultimately. Yes we all need to know the basic foundation that will give the clarity, courage and faith to open up the “sealed records” but believe me, it hurts and it’s
a “tangled ball of black knots” that need to be loosened and untied with skill- that’s the space my words enter- because “these places within” that all the greatest artistic masterpieces of all time were drawn from take the ability to “go there” and do something useful with the powerful and often overwhelming emotions that await you.

The fuel for our awakening is hidden in these depths- in the realm of her dark suction and yes, surrender- fall to your knees and rub your face into the dirt of this earth and smell the musky fervor of her devotion to you in the form of regeneration. From dirt into dirt we go. And when she loves you she opens the black hole and pulls it all up- the beauty then flows from the source of her- where nobody dare go- which is to the bottom of which there is no return without the sacrifice of the suffering and attachments that we cling to. We truly must “give it all to her” with appreciation because it’s inevitable- and so it’s a blessing if we have the words to say “I love you” in a way that is more meaningful than those three simple, durable, multipurpose words- but to mean it because we dredged it deep from the floor of our soul.

I only lead the way. I only mean to encourage the entry into her domain. What takes us closer to the edge of her spotless, crystal blade is the undying love we offer through the death of our “self” through the sacrifice of control, through the helplessness we embrace, knowing that her wild flurries of inter-dimensional chaos are actually the jewels of absolute non dual clarity even if it makes no sense to you at all. It’s only because you’re stuck in a terribly confining intellectual rut, but even then, a deeper you knows something way down low was struck in a way that forever changes everything you held onto…

which is the point, let go of conceptual reality…

be free to move through the many worlds and be a creator of beauty against all opposition. Anything and everything can be made beautiful through creativity and the angle with which we view negativity. And so this is how we brighten and clarify our minds in service to our hearts -we give a voice, a color, a nuance and a tear to the “ugly, shameful or abhorrent” to the “forgotten, disowned and taboo” within us and we come out transformed by our own selfless actions- because feelings and experiences are not yours alone- everyone has rage, addiction, loneliness, frustration, regret, and loss. We have been blessed with these fractures and we have been wounded so that we are compelled to seek the means of release which heal and rebirth not only ourselves, but all beings fractured by these same wounds- and so we create art- the lasting beauty that stems from suffering and reveals the divine flower.

Words are magic when used wisely and they have the power to move anything in a new direction. Negative emotions conjure certain words and we lash out without clarity. At these moments of obscurity of consciousness if we could but go within and listen to the truth, the spark of pain that bleeds the light of something from before, we could take our anger or grief and create something uncensored and prolific from the grace of her darkness. This darkness is where all beauty hides waiting to be noticed, heard, articulated- through song, dance, poetry, painting- anything that takes us deeper into the primal wounds of humanity and pulls the myth from the seemingly insignificant emotional baggage.

No, it’s not insignificant, it’s the reason God came here, because the water is divine. The water at the bottom where it’s warm and alive with all the bacteria of our souls. If you go through life contracting- becoming tighter and tighter- disinfecting, deodorizing, clenching, blaming, projecting, acting out- disowning your potential through self sabotage and settling for mediocrity in the name of security and so not ruffling any feathers or entering the fear of the unknown- than you might as well be dead. You are here to live within the chasm of your emotional kingdom of angels and devils by turning them into poignant gods of creation through the movement you embody- word, hand and deed.

A very famous writer was once asked what was the criteria for becoming a great writer because it didn’t seem an “education” was enough- but how to become the greatest of the great so that your words invoke deep moods, tears and smiling eyes- so that your words take someone on such an inner journey that they are “there with you” and forget the dry world around them…to which he replied, “intense suffering.”

A voice from within once said to me,

“God gives the gift of tears to those who would endure.”

And so we must stop feeling dejected and realize that this is why we are blessed by suffering so that we are compelled to transform and create- so that we can make something we feel good about because we touched our deep soul light and we know it- but that is only when we enter its realm with awe and gratitude of the profoundness of our emotional intensity and we just know we can take this “feeling of grief” and make something beautiful out of it. All experience is grand when we claim in and create our own from the subtleties it engenders.

I write to make life colorfully sacred- and give a voice to the voicelessness of unspoken places. The mind has no idea what’s going on or what really happened. The heart is the real knower and therefore the chosen abode of the deity. The heart has magical words that conjure memories, images and feelings and mysteriously explain the unexplainable, meticulously define the formless and thus contradict all stability of linear movement.

We are beyond the constraints of intellect and I am not bound by appropriate means. I will travel to hell and back again bringing you heaven because this is who I am and I love you and if you don’t understand the significance of my words- I don’t care…because that would only mean that your head is up your ass- and yet even then, I know your heart still hears me. All hearts hear beyond the fear of “making sense” nothing makes sense- stop defining the illusion and start creating the one that invisibly feels without tangible sight and that knows without any answers at all.

I do what I do with a massive agenda. I am not going off or getting off “on paper” this is another world, a better place than the homelessness of no understanding. I do understand. I am here and I am drowning in my own tears and I hear them falling and I imagine how much I love you and will miss you once the water takes me for good and so I dream of a more beautiful way to say, “I’m dying and I can’t stop a thing”  I write it in the words, I draw it in the sky- and I hope you find my swan song before you too must go…

we are the revealers of the jewel. They say the “jewel is in the lotus” so then why aren’t you embracing its multi-faceted light? This jewel is the totality of the motherlight, not another feel good failed attempt at survival. It’s all or nothing should her light truly shine. Emotions are disowned due to lack of courage, and so the light is dingy and dull- it’s depressing to waste the precious richness of the emotional abyss. Get inside the stickiness of life with courage and sit, listen, create- define the beauty that you are and transform the unspeakable taboos of the forbidden abyss into the miraculous rainbow of the blissful pure land- without changing anything at all but your own angle of perception.

Nothing and nobody is “ugly” or of “low moral character” you are simply misunderstanding your role in the myth. Go within and create something out of the insurmountable and incurable suffering. Don’t leave more rejected pain behind for the next person to deal with- instead leave trails of crystal light in the form of your all embracing creative expression of life’s beauty- that someone else who is also suffering can follow back to their beloved pure heart- because of you and the alchemical light you cast by your very existence. Write it down in a poem and send your divine blessings to everyone you will leave behind, including yourself my dear.

Sharada Devi

29 thoughts on “these places within”

  1. She who must be obeyed, because she is the queen and caretaker of the desire-realm (this is the world you and I live in) She rides along side her consort upon her mule in a total and all consuming embrace. They ride over a lake of blood (your blood that pumps your mother light heart) What are flesh and bones for? So she told you what to do? Now all you need to do is do it. Those who know and don’t do, don’t know nothing. Karma is action, this is the dance of suchness. You live in a divine world of pain and suffering, do you want bliss and emptiness? What will you DO to get it. She carries a bag of poison (fukoshima?) The fish are dying, the radioactive water is flooding the whole west coast from canada to Mexico. Write you death poem now, while she still given you a breath of light to warm your heart. Open your voice and go somewhere outside and sit down. Let the light in and open your mouth, swallow the breath and bring it down into the pool in your soft belly. Hold it in and think of God, now let the OM out all the way and mix your mind with space. This is the way back home, when you get up, dance. Be of good cheer and raise the windhorse. Good Luck!
    Sri Devi Das aka Bhagavan Das

  2. I feel I am mostly content with what my heart understands in this moment, but underneath whatever acceptance I have there is a pervasive, quiet… sadness—?—not quite; but it’s the best I can describe of what I don’t understand– it’s always still and still feels like it’s not even my own. What I mean is that it doesn’t seem to exist here with me. It’s not attached to anything I know of; but appears to live somewhere else….and although I’m ok with not knowing it, I also don’t know what to do with it (or for it) other than to acknowledge it’s there. Anyway you talk of the purpose of suffering and I know what you say to be true…but there is something with this I can’t reach with even my heart…other than feeling something that approximates sadness. It almost feels like sharing a womb and knowing there is someone there with, but is not of me. I know this sounds kind of pointless; like trying to describe a color that doesn’t exist and obviously thinking probably won’t get me anywhere, so maybe I should just meditate or wait…

    1. it’s the truth of the human condition.
      everyone just ignores it…
      you can’t reach what you already are,
      you can only define the center by
      knowing it’s edges and then going deeper
      with words as images that speak from this defused melancholy and aching silence- is the thing to do -to listen to the sadness inside the heart of god- you can meditate upon it and then listen for the words deep within your soul and then write them down…
      and send them to me…(if you want:)

      Beloved tear of the goddess,
      I know you love me
      and that’s why you’re here…
      please tell me how to know you…

      1. “you can only define the center by knowing it’s edges and then going deeper” yes this resonates. I will meditate and let you know…you know…we are at different ends of the sea, but you know me.

        1. Here’s what it said: I’m the walking dead with 3 options left: 1) Do nothing and continue as a ghost on a treadmill only seeing as far as my next scrap of fake food; then await further instruction from an unknown source. 2) Do it later and keep contemplating/learning/searching/planning with hope in one hand and my clock in the other and never find the moment I seek in TIME; annihilation will eventually come and bring me back. 3) Let go: Turn away from the blue screen! I am literally going blind; longing for light, but refusing the sun; free to everyone, that can restore my vision. Shut off the noise of my constant companion’s fake connection. It gets imperceptibly louder and I’m going deaf fast. Obsessed with fake flesh? When is the last time you intimately touched the earth? Better get as much skin-to-skin contact while you can with your real lover. Stop trying to feel alive by staying in fake hunger which demands eating more dead food. Only real hunger (something we used to take for granted) can create the actions that are needed. Instead we are only emotionally hungry and only creating more resistance. Fight to be hungry! Mother can only move me to the river in my cage; still holding my key that will fit one lock marked 1, 2 or 3.

          1. So great! so true!
            You really said it all like you always do…
            so you’re coming to the river?…and it’s
            such perfect timing…almost springtime when the butterfly is born from the secret shell…springtime when the quiet birds
            come alive making music…springtime when our eyes open to the motherlight and the blue screen dies forever.

          2. Yes, thank you, and I should say that this was only what I found on the edges. I guess I will have to make my choice and see if I will get to the center. By the way, speaking of spring, I told you how depleted and anemic I was following my “fast” last summer. Well, from what I understand with anemia, your blood cells can’t carry oxygen sufficiently, but I finally noticed color in my cheeks today. However, on my way downstairs I saw that the leaf I wrote about looks dead now, but it is still hanging there laid flat on the branch by the last rain; with no more ability to hold itself back up. So much love, I thought about reaching out the window and pulling it off the branch and sending it off somewhere beautiful; but then I thought about letting it follow it’s own will even if it pains me so…

          3. That’s wisdom Mother goddess.
            I used to be the one that would go ahead and end the clinging- by pulling the leaf- as if I could end the pain of it’s attachment to samsara more quickly…but I’ve learned to instead just watch the leaf as those I see clinging to that which is no longer living
            and let the leaf learn on its own…but I do think still that there is a time to pull -just in case the leaf is having a bad dream and maybe I can stop such needless suffering…but who am I to say what’s needless- it’s about timing and trusting yourself in the end…there’s nothing else but the tree and it’s leaves as the lesson, the river and it’s water as the teacher, and the sunshine and it’s light as the benevolent one who blesses all with another chance to shine.

            Life gives color. You must be very sensitive to others…this world is a vampire, and there is only giving and taking as you know…don’t let them keep taking…protect your prana as the precious elixir of her life sustaining magic -to love you as them-
            and give to yourself -and let the leaf fall.
            When it’s over it’s over. Born again takes
            a leafless tree…at least for a little while☀️

          4. There’s so much for me in what you’ve just said. I will have that for breakfast!

            I do think maybe I should talk to the leaf, because if it is hanging on for me, maybe I should at least tell it, it can let go. I didn’t mention, that a couple days ago, I
            touched the leaf for the first time and that is when it really started dying (and now there is life coming back to me).

            A great wave of love washing over you!

  3. I just let it flow…personally I don’t like reading this kind of stuff from other people…so I don’t expect other people to enjoy the smell of this…but it’s my shit so I don’t mind it…I tried to really allow what came to mind to come out even though it was repetitive…and I’m not drunk either…so I’m not sensing the 4th dimension…I’m not painting the painting of the mirrors reflection…just the mirrors reflection…one layered…

    hoping for the words that will remind me of the real words behind them for the deeper meaning it doesn’t work as well for me as you she wails cries dries cries a lie of windfall madness shale prisoner marine corps boot camp bench graffiti whooooaaaah prisoner!!!whoah prisoner platoon for 18 year olds earth body rainbow blackness turning above you the stars twist the vast safe lock dial cracks open your eyes blacken without trying heaven or the gates with the clunky chains that rust and rattle an emptiness of ragged paper that pirates matted and crumpled and patted with boddhi paws it seems it were me not for you ocean blue pristine so come clean even mean I know you so it’s true and the time it was chime fortune teller ocean waves and memories worship roses and sage from the time of an age that displayed a blade for a nade serenade her dreams away sway so I stayed afraid for so long she been gone for so long not for her but for me as we dreamed we were sleep til the night punctured his wake the stake was a snake of plight and might i gifted the deed and ate what was left of the speed it happens only at noon on a full moon rising as tides clench the abiding and stagger the dagger edge follows your pursuit of dreams weave into crescent moons tide wanes to dreams of the earth and rebirth steam pressure the worth was less than the birth firtht light captain Shane grimace the lord taketh away yet he giveth and stealeth and revealeth the words yet unheard no one cares for these words and my heart is open the token has spoken we’ve broken her mirror and troubles abound by the sound of the wave machine clean the steam surround sound of persona and eggshells cast spells with funny smells indicating Obama and Paris with Harris of rarest earth is my birth Hancock the dock of trees and their leaves trodden the rotten sky with green sulfur gases and sardine crated lasses…

    1. Thank you! Great example of automatic writing-which means uncensored writing without a break in thought, without changing words and without lifting the pen to think-
      you just let it flow…psychic purging and also your subconscious speaks to you in this way- these are the words dreams are made of…thanks again

  4. Sharada Devi,
    I speak to transform suffering.
    I hurt and it is unhurt.
    I am only in the dirt
    And now
    And it is stupid
    Which doesn’t look good.
    Where do you want me to go?
    Oh yea, there is more than one way
    To trudge
    All the way
    All the time
    I suppose I’m not done
    Because I exist only
    For you

    1. where do you want to go?
      if there’s more than one way,
      which is your way?
      crossroad in
      crossroad out…
      drawing crosses,
      hung from the stake
      4 sided triangle
      get inside…
      the sun is cold
      if we don’t know
      it’s always shining…
      somewhere else but here?
      maybe it’s time for a change
      of dimension and maybe it’s
      time to break your box
      of safety and slamming…
      the walls still
      disguised as myself…
      stargazer my sweet one
      don’t forget how to leave.

  5. This world is cold
    And I am too?
    More like under a dark ocean
    where u

    Blood is warm
    And soul is breath
    What’s Left?
    Mashed potatoes
    Nazi world,
    Slumber parties…
    Fun death?

  6. “Watch out for intellect,
    because it knows so much it knows nothing
    and leaves you hanging upside down,
    mouthing knowledge as your heart
    falls out of your mouth”

  7. I wish you would end the blog for 6 months…and permanently cancel my membership to your videos…and take down your YouTube channel for 6 months too…and just ignore me forever…so I can move on…even though I don’t feel like I can right now…sometimes I do though…it’s probably the right thing for me to do at this point don’t you think?

    1. no. if you don’t want them posted don’t post them- the only posts that I will not approve are those that are slanderous or unkind. I do not delete after the fact- yours or anyone’s. maybe think twice next time before acting on impulsive tendency.

      Ps-also I will not approve the posting of totally unrelated subject matter

  8. Your words struck at just the right moment. Marinating for days in my anger at the world, myself, and why we are so cruel to one another. Finally, marination led to release of a tangled knot. Wept for the souls of all to find relief and know we are all loved.

    Sending much aloha

Leave a Reply

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