where the night hides the moon

♦Naked. Lying beneath the sun. It’s early in the morning, and it’s still, and I’m not leaving. The morning wind rustles through the leaves, some are starting to fall..glowing green treetops and blue light…angels sitting in the clouds. I see apples winding around the branches and plums that are ready to pick. A marijuana forest shades the ground and butterflies wander in search of something dreamy. The dogs run free. The smell of lavender fills the air. A huge Ganesh oversees it all, his candles burning and incense smoke rises-It’s not a front or back yard-It’s the throne of Mother Nature. There are no neighbors. It’s forest and mountains and hills covered in rivers, creeks and even a family of wolves.

Everyone left and went to the city because the money calls…but you won’t find them there.
You won’t see what I’ve seen…

and They have clearly said that this life is about returning. Returning to her land. Merging with her earthly love. Accepting him as he is.

Bare feet in the soil, naked skin bathed in the sun and moonlight. Stars hatching in all directions through the wild nights. Our own hands grow our food. Our own voices sing to the fruit. It’s not a parallel universe, it’s here and now. It’s where the goddess moves freely and fear disappears. It’s what the Mother Light is and even the hackers know this.

We make the fires and we rise the smoke with prayers for forgiveness. Hawks, eagles, owls.
She holds them all upon her shoulder. They land and then they leave again to sore the skies looking for something in the looming mountains and hollow hills that surround us as a reminder…

what are you looking for?
a more civilized version of me?

A frog lives in our bathroom in the big open window where a tulsi plant grows. The earth spirits and astral beings dance outside this window all night long and during the day they rest on tree branches and under cool rocks. I can usually hear them singing…very soft and mysterious…

and I can’t control myself in their sound anymore…

There is one I hear most often, she is different. She lives alone away from the others. I’ve seen her only once one night when it was late and she thought she was alone. She was a silvery white color shining inside a circle of willow trees. She shimmered while she spiraled inside a diagram that shone from the floor of the earth while she sang -and tears fell from the willow tree branches raining down upon her- and white owls landed inside the circle while she spiraled and sang. It was haunting and indescribable, her beauty and longing as she sang to the night while he held her in his promising clutch…

She never left. She’s still there shining in his darkness, singing herself into the hidden arms of the open night. Sometimes I listen, but I never get too close…she is more beautiful than these eyes can bare. She is brighter than these eyes can see. She is darker than midnight when he finds her. And she is always gone by dawn. I don’t know where she goes, maybe with him, to the place where the night hides the moon…

I’m lying. I have seen what happens. I have seen where she goes when he comes…

I am a shadow inside a crystal- crying and bound to him. Lucid and hollow, wildly savage. Obliteration, annihilation. Seeping and forgetting wedding vows and broken rings. Torn in two by him. Eating backwards, shaking trees. Animals lie scattered in ecstasy. Geomancy in puzzle pieces, worms squirming and fertile…brilliant blazing white. I am a black hole who swallows pale light. Red lips and sharp nails. Nature stricken by the primal song she sings. He was dark when he approached her- open and begging-for shelter from the stars. She laid down like an angel in the clouds and obscured him, eclipsed him, disappeared into him-

This isn’t how we think of love- politely shedding its skin. This is what they’re doing within us- caged and pacing to get out. Find her..get inside. Don’t deny your ancestor’s freedom.

And whatever I saw wasn’t backwards. It was this thing we cannot find in cities, sterility and half way embracing-they cut each other out, I was left not there at all. The earth was bare and quiet. We were gone into something I can’t say.

I am a face that nobody wants to see. I am the sound of broken love pulling itself back together. I am not there unless you look. I am inside of him
rising like a hungry fire.

Give yourself to this like I give myself to him again and again…

The Union of the unspeakable and the unknowable

I’m always looking for you inside these hollow hills…
Sharada Devi

10 thoughts on “where the night hides the moon”

  1. “I am a face that nobody wants to see. I am the sound of broken love pulling itself back together. I am not there unless you look. I am inside of him
    rising like a hungry fire.”
    That’s it, ain’t it? All this brokenness in this existence, and who wants to look at it? It’s a thankless job, I tell ya…sorta like the garbage woman of the soul, you are….all these shit factories (thank you Mr. BD, for that) and somebody has got to keep folks from drownin’ in it (so’s the others have a place to drown). It’s enuf to make a moth bark. Well, take heart Ms. Devi, cuz maybe not everbody does, but I grok what you’re sayin, and why you’re sayin’ it cuz i’ve done spent a mighty long time a’ years being pissed off myself till I figgered it out. More and more folks is gonna “git” what yur saying (and only you can say it (or somebody just like you) who is pissed off with the love-burn) and them folks is gonna find their heart, and yur gonna get some stars in yer crown and lose a few thousand lifetimes of fuckin’ around, ye danged ol’ Bodhisatver; But be careful, ya hear me? “They” is on to ya, and they’s a comin’ fer ya. Ya gotta be like a snake in a lamb’s wool, er whatever it is. Maybe its the other way around, I dunno. be careful wit yer heart, pilgrim. It was a purty nice day today, weren’t it?

    1. Red Crow,
      You are so interesting. I really like you.
      Where do you live? You’ve got a language and magnetism all your own…did you write the first poem you sent or was it a poet you were quoting?
      so I wonder if you’re real?
      Thank you.

      1. you’re welcome.
        that 1st poem, I wrote it in 1980. At the time, I didn’t know what I was saying, or what it meant. I also wonder if I am real…..about as real as any other ol’ human being…..however real that is. It makes me happy that you like me. I like you too. I don’t like you because you are a cult figure, although it is a bit weird……I have never written to a cult figure before, but I know in my heart you are (in your heart) a nobody just like me…..I imagine being a cult figure is as challenging as having a lot of money…or worse. I like your energy for truth. I don’t know of anyone else who is saying what you are saying in the way you are saying it. You stick your neck out on the chopping block, and I see that as such a rich and beautiful rare loving offering. Not that I agree with everything you say…..it does not matter that we agree….words suck anyway; what matters is honesty about this experience of being a spirit in a body…..totally spirit and totally material at the same time…and what that means to our existence, and fumbling around attempting to express all that angst and find peace, and my heart respects that you are doing that. I feel who you are beyond the words. That is where we (as human beings) have the potential to meet. It might be that we (you and me) like each other because our stories are similar.(I think) As I read your blog, I see a lot of my own life in strange little weird ways that only someone who has been in the same (emotional and spiritual) places would understand. I feel a bit crazy, yet all too sane. I had a lot of religious/physical/emotional/sexual /trauma as a child, and at the same time, a super sensitive open hungry heart for ??????. I tried to kill myself when I was 12, and was saved at the last moment by a “voice from God”. If there was something other to life than the sick bullshit I was living, being and experiencing, I was hell-bent on finding out what it was (who I was), and that was my invitation. I mean….there was no option. Somehow I realized (no, more like “felt” or intuited) that the only “way” was to be truthful in all matters,(no matter how ugly) and the “truth” of life was, for most of the next 40 years, a hell realm of opposites, drugs and denial, and suicide was always an option to escape the psychic pain of being alive with an open heart and a fucked up mind. I tried to “fit-in” but never did, as much as I tried, so eventually I just gave up, and that is when the good stuff started happening. I have a word blog that I could share with you, and another site of creations that I do not call art, but “dysfunction purgings”. Actually, for the last few years I have been making “altars” that are part chaos and part love. Most of them have a deity involved. You might like some of my writing…or relate to it, anyway. Hardly anyone relates to my creativity. You might.
        Here are a couple of short ones;

        On Main Street of the town I grew up in,
        every Saturday morning
        men would come
        and preach about their clean god
        that brought light
        and salvation from
        the filth that we were living in

        That was not the god that came to me

        I found my god, a dirty god,
        in the clean face of Tina Grover
        and later
        through my broken and hungry heart.
        (end of poem)
        and one more….
        (new poem)

        The wheel is spinning
        fire into my soul
        while out behind the barn
        a lamb
        is dropped into the frozen muck
        from the womb of its mother

        I could laugh
        or cry
        at this loving sin of existence
        where a savior
        is purchased for a dollar
        and thirty seven cents;
        and from a cow stable
        is born the light of the world

        Yes, Coyote, I understand,
        and thank you
        for another
        paradoxical day
        on planet love
        (end of poem)
        I am from the christian fundamentalist Deep South, although I no longer live there. It has been a long journey out of that place, but I still talk like a redneck hick. I am okay now. I am happy. No shit. No pretending. Nothing covered over. I am at peace with God and death all of the time, and at peace with life, most of the time. I figured out there is nothing to figure out, and that finally feels perfect and complete. There have been 2-3 really brief, kind gentle encounters along the way that made all the difference. I have a woman that loves me, a job that brings healing to the earth, 3 children that are a lot happier than I ever was at that stage of my life, and in general, thankfulness for this weird existence and all that occurs ( and does not occur). I do not have money or fame. I sit (zazen) at a small back-in-the-woods Monastery in small town Iowa. My spiritual heritage is expansive and diverse, and it has always been the “essence” (or suchness) of the teachings that has held power for me, rather than the teachings or the words. I am inter-faith, or all faiths, or no faith….I just have faith. My only guru is my own broken little heart that has been patched back together and keeps chugging away. The little heart that could.
        If you are interested, send me an e-mail and I will send you an invitation to the blog (otherwise, it is closed), and a link to the altars. I probably have an e-mail for you someplace in the past. I used to be a member of Mr. B. das’ fan club, but he kicked me off because I suggested he could be different than what he is. That was wrong of me, and I do not do that sort of thing anymore. Please tell Mr. B. das that I am sorry, and I hope he knows he is perfect just like he is, despite what that ol’ red crow says. I stopped watching your videos for a couple of years but I came back recently when I heard you were sick. I wanted to know what was going on. I am glad you are better. Mr. B. das seems a lot calmer and kinder these days. Maybe he is just getting old and mellow like good wine. Maybe you stole all his piss and vinegar. Maybe not. Now you probably don’t like me anymore. maybe you still do. I guess I’ll find out.
        if you want to use it, my e-mail is

        please delete that if you post this letter. It is fine if you do not post this letter. whatever.
        thank you. (not whatever)
        good night in freedom, pilgrim.

        1. Dear Red Crow,
          Thank you! You are a fascinating force of nature. Your writing is magnificent and your insight is astounding. I really mean it.
          I very much appreciate your words, time and your poetry. I probably kicked you out of his fan club- BD doesn’t care at all about those who criticize him or whatever- he’s strange that way and he’s very accepting
          of everyone no matter what they bring him.
          Yes he has changed. He’s says it’s because of me and it’s true, I took a lot and I also suggested he could be different than he was- (demanded really) but that’s my opinion – and he’s so wise and humble he actually listened and nobody is perfect and he has helped me so much- he can be anything to anyone – his magic is in his empathy and shadow catching- a parent a friend, God or a Devil- he really shows us what we’re made of. I like you still. Funny, the cult leader concept-never even thought of it- just got caught up in the world’s hurt and here I am stuck exposing or exploiting (not totally sure which) in song and in pages- and the light as I see it in whoever brings their love and pain. I’m not complaining but it really did just happen and there seems no way out at this time in the game-
          could be useless, but we all know what’s coming….even if we deny it…
          You’re the best that’s out there and thank you again…

  2. family / siblings
    do we choose them prior to our birth?
    or is it a karmic destiny.
    i have no poem to offer
    but am in a space of gratitude and wonder,,,

    1. Is everything ok Sri Radhe?
      I wonder that myself. It’s a complex
      situation I think in that regard. Who stands
      at our door knocking and how we get out…
      it’s all meant for our liberation-
      approach and perception and how we handle
      projection- ours and theirs- is the only
      thing I know- yes it’s magnetism that leads
      to who we know and blood ties are often
      filled with our most powerful demon opposers- so our family brings it out and God Bless those who help us see by that grace as we approach liberation from the lie
      that we aren’t perfect as we are and that they too aren’t Buddha. It’s hard I know.
      My love to you.

  3. Yes, everything is ok.
    Thank you for asking.
    i am in my away from home retreat from the norm of my world time
    5 days alone.
    i too have been able to sit silently and serenely and listen to the wind rustle through the trees.
    Apple, fig, banana and a variety of citrus. Though none are ready to pick.
    The 2 Yorkies that i am intrusted with are playfully running here and there.
    Occasionally jumping up for some lap time, a petting or a kiss.Their hair as soft and silky as a young child.
    Bushes of Plumeria send out their sweet perfume .
    i recline and watch the clouds perform a gossamer dance of transformation.
    Butterflies and an insect that i have never seen before with an iridescent body fly and glide by.
    A Red-Tailed Hawk is making lazy circles in the sky.
    This is my Brother’s home.
    Friends and family want me to call
    but i have no desire to talk.
    They want me to go to the beach
    but i prefer to be alone away from people
    in my temporary oasis.
    i have stocked up on fresh fruit and veggies and grains.
    and have brought along a traveling altar and The Ramayana.
    Tonight i hope to sit under the stars.
    my deepest Love to you too.
    ❤️🍌🌼☁️☀️

  4. Tonight, the bass is walking between the lines, as you said, and the golden eye wolf is looking at the moon. I’m not afraid, even though I’m kind of sad because Bela Lugosi is dead. Thanks for keeping me aware. Today they could not make it and everything was beatiful. Thanks. ONS

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