white like god birds

My Sweetest Angel,

I write to say that sometimes your wings through the sky are louder than the words that you could never say…

Scars remind us don’t they? Maybe of the person we couldn’t be -or maybe of the person we left behind. Scars left -they remind us that some things need to be covered by new flesh.

I miss her sometimes…so idealistic and so naive. Lucky me though, like the mosquito who got away…that everything changes and the trees turn red to orange to brown and what seemed so majestic was really just death setting it. The fireworks really have no meaning other than to excite us and make us look up into the sky. The sky where the Angels dwell. The Angels casting death and enchantment. The Angels with
silver haloes and broad chests. The Angels with silky golden hair and exquisite breasts.

You know, the Angels we meet on the surface- flapping and disguising- plummeting and revealing everything in the silence of their ceremony-

Their Realm of No Return.

Now that you’ve stayed around -and now that you’ve heard Her -singing that song in your ear-
The Siren calling you home. Home to Her mountain top. Home to His heaven’s peak.
Home to me sweet Angel.

The walls have grown so thin. So flimsy the veils that kept back the secret- the secret that She kept from you all this time- and the reason He was weeping.

They wore black that night and Their wings wiped the sky clean of all its homeless stars, all it’s mirrors flashing back the morning as if we were supposed to believe the sun would come back up.

Get out of my way, I’ve already been there. Move out of my way Man with the Scepter. The Wizard who counts backwards only -again and again-and I don’t even know why. He spliced His name into mine -as if we’re the same person -and I’ve barely kissed his withered face.

He charmed me like I was His Snake and kept me dancing and striking for years. But now She’s spread Herself back out in the moonlight and knows where and why the Boy Weeps. Where and why the girl spoke too softly. Where and Why the Angels betray us.

They betray us because they make us think they’re shimmery and feathery and white like God Birds who sing and fly like streams of crystal ribbons through the heavenly skies all day- but REALLY what they do is seduce us -and sing us back to them-
even though THEY KNOW that really we can’t fly. -we have no wings -only rubber arms -we have no halo -only a crown of thorns.

Pure Sadomasochism sent by God Himself.
Dishing it out in feathers and pretty faces-
and I’m not so sure where we’re going?

But I was there for you anyway, rocking the crib singing, ” silent night, holy night…” Even though I knew it wasn’t a silent or a holy night- it was the Grimm Reaper at the foot of the bed trying to figure out what He was going to do with you.

What dark room He would bend you over in.

How deep He could go into you.
That’s Him.

The God of the Angels you never knew.

Sure you’ve heard the stories, we all have -but when push comes to shove it’s all black leather and business as usual isn’t it?

Not so fun anymore? Credit card declined?

And then to make matters worse, the Song of the Siren this time was just the sound of your shoes shuffling out of the room once the fun was over. “I’m never coming back. I’ll never fade into you again. You’ll never find me lost in your ocean.” (plus your zipper gets stuck)

“Are you sure you want to shut down?” She asks you “or should we just click restart instead?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to float like a clear and clean Angel and pump light into my saline heart. I want to be without blood and be without skin. I want to shine in the sky with nowhere to go but to you.”

It’s called No Return.
It’s a one way ticket to a place we can’t find.

So you shocked your whole system with the various stories and beliefs -and the places a rocket ship might take you -wouldn’t be to church or a re-creation of Easter.

This is the Holy Night of Sin and Christ Giving.

He gave us His Blood and His Flesh. He told us to eat Him. That’s all we really know.

Then they nailed him up and He Bled. Then He maybe went to Heaven. Then He maybe came back once last time- THEN he may be coming back pretty soon to shoot us down or embrace us-and Then -He just might be looking for a wife or at least a pretty woman whose still hungry.

Sounds pretty wild to me.

Life isn’t the beliefs we set in motion. Life isn’t the soup we made from a cookbook. Life isn’t
my place to say what life is.

Only what it maybe isn’t.

And we aren’t supposed to be hiding anything – but we do- like wings in the closet or blood in our shoes.

And we aren’t supposed to be licking that ice- but we do it anyway because we want to hurt.

And we do it anyway- because then the ice turns hot -and we roll over- and He’s got his scythe and His black hood on

-and all I can think to say is I love you and thank you for this mess I’ve made.

What would I do without you Angel of Death?
Sexiest God that I know. You just might kill me and watch me glow.

And the Angels never leave the sky and the mistress had no mother. Because of this She was never born. Not into this womb or any other.

I took a chance on you- because your face was wiped clean -the second I looked at the clock- and Heaven only knows Her Name is Midnight -because the hours are over.

And if Her name is Midnight then you must be The One.

The One who whose arms move everything…

And my aching joints filled with life and sap leak from this tree once again. I’m a far cry from
any Moon I’ve ever known. Roots like tubes- I blow the river right through you.

He’s sitting on the edge of my bed and He never smiles- but I love Him anyway -because He reminds me of the moment before I was born, before I forgot everything, before I remembered you.

When I still knew nothing could ever tear us apart. Not any Angel. Not any Cross.

“My Bonny lies over the ocean. My Bonny lies over the sea. My Bonny lies over the ocean.
Oh bring back my Bonny to me, to me….

I used to hear this song when I was a little girl and I thought they were saying body.

My body lies over the ocean. My body lies over the sea. My body lies over the ocean. Oh bring back my body to me to me. Bring back my body to me….

and I would sit there and just cry and cry.
I guess I still do.

All my love sweet angel,

Sharada Devi


6 thoughts on “white like god birds”

  1. This deeply stirring and exquisitely beautiful post
    creates an incendiary intensity.
    The reading of it kindles something deep and primal within me.
    Something i cannot name in words and
    have read it numerous times now.
    The one line that strikes home to me is –
    “-because He reminds me of the moment before I was born, before I forgot everything,”
    That blazing perception has always held fast to my truest being.
    Haven’t heard ‘Misguided Angel’ in so very many years
    and now it keeps flowing

  2. Is Merlin the Wizard Who Counts Backwards?
    ” But I unfortunately was born at the wrong end of time, and I have to live backwards from in front, while surrounded by a lot of people living forwards from behind. Some people call it having second sight.”

    Or am i being too mental again?

    1. Maria
      Honestly I have no idea what I’m saying-
      I just channel it all- I hear and I write-
      and it’s done. Sometimes happy sometimes sad. Sometimes nice and sometimes naughty.

      It’s all one great big

      1. So i really am just “thinking too much” in trying to decipher that which is unknowable.
        Attempting to put together a puzzle that has no solution.
        There are portions ( of your blog ) that are based in mundane reality.
        Your truth.
        i have not fully shared deeper parts of myself that may relate to others
        out of that protective nature of exposing my shame etc in what is ultimately a public place.
        i think that you want us all to bare our more hidden truths, if for no other reason than to help
        heal ourselves and maybe those others who are drawn to this blog.
        But does it eventually just come down to ego stroking or a REAL remedy for what ails us.
        There is A LOT of shit that has been the story of my life that i find too intimate to share because
        of judgment. ( or the ugly word “fear” of it ).
        So i keep looking for the secrets that might be revealed between the lines written.
        The decoding of , the guidebook to, the answer , the riddle that i guess only i can solve.
        But i just feel like i need so much help in the process.
        Wha wha wha…
        poor poor pitiful me
        i know i’m not trying hard enough.
        or maybe it is more a lack of simplicity.
        seeking the obscure jewel in the crown
        when the answer is more obvious and not as clouded over as i tend to make it

        1. Maria, we’re all thinking too much. Even the mundane parts are written like a wave-
          It comes I hear and I write- otherwise I don’t- that’s why sometimes a lot- or once in a week-I only do inspired writing and I don’t censor or question- I have faith in my intention- which, whether or not it’s understood due to my wrathful nature at times/ I always love you. The answer is messy and we need to go with the flow of our hearts and the songs that stir us and the people whose eyes we love. We can’t figure it out we can only surrender to the beauty of our mysterious soul passing through time and discovery. The answer is always between the words, between the sheets/ and under your warm human skin. Our head never knows
          what our heart has planned for us- so we should write like we’re skimming the edge of forever. I say what I say because what’s there to hide? You are all inside of me anyway playing the harp….heavenly friends.

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