there was only his dark hand covering her empty face

You have to see the big picture.


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 if 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…


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.


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…


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…


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


Laughing all the way to the grave


Don’t misunderstand me. My love is eternal and beyond the guise of this body. My friendship and commitment to anyone who has ever known me or who has even once looked upon me with love is unbreakable- and I will be there in the highest order to catch you as I have caught myself. From the clutches of fear, confusion and untimely death- you can count on me. Bhagavan Das is everything and I can talk as I do because our union is beyond this earth, surface things and stupid personalities. It’s so beyond that no matter how or what I say, the bond is eternally unbreakable because it is true everlasting love dependent upon nothing in this world. That’s why neither me nor him are hung up on externals, why there is no fear in what I say as -if it matters. He doesn’t mind. He encourages my blatant honesty. I do what I do because he tells me to, he supports it. He is not attached to himself. He thinks it’s all funny. We are not our bodies or the relationships we create within them- with whoever- inside of time. Roles, faces and reasons change. We play it out on the surface with full passionate involvement for the benefit of all who would fear to go there. For whatever reason- out of posturing particularly. We are not this, we are in this. We suffer fully and deeply to engage and transform this. I am so sure of my love for Bhagavan Das and his love for me- beyond the surface ripples- that no matter what anyone says or does- or doesn’t do- it’s trivial- because there is the ground ocean love that doesn’t change. There is the ocean guru. There is the karma we reveal. There is the shaking and the struggle. There is the pain and tears. There is the death and life. There are new names and characters. There are words and there is silence. And above and beyond- below and inside- there is the unchanging, unmanifest. Independent of externals and so confident in it’s truth, that anything and everything can happen- and nothing changes. That is the fun of our love. Me and Bhagavan Das cannot ever be separated is why we can do whatever we want, come and go. We do it for each other’s growth. The guru devotion beyond body is so all encompassing for us both that the freedom to move and destroy is unlimited. And the peace to let go or hold on is unparalleled. We met in this time to free ourselves and each other. To set an example of fearless freedom- no matter how the judgements fall. We answer to our own hearts. We are a friend and an ally to a spirit that cannot be extinguished. We will never be apart. Don’t be hung up on names and numbers. We are actors in a glamorous drama. Calling out to God, “Help me! Help me! Save me! Save me!” Laughing all the way to the grave. You’ve got a friend.
Sharada Devi

because I won’t back down


Where is the forest? Here I am in limbo. Back in the little hovel yurt and dome. Bhagavan Das stayed in Guatemala. You know we’re doing the retreat together in June but the rest, it’s over just like that. Because of me, the dogs are gone and I destroyed the entire thing. It’s surreal. It’s ok. But limbo is it for me and I am searching inward what to do. I am hoping the same of you. I have so much faith in you to guide me and I pray you will give me feedback. I basically have no reason to be any particular place. I was thinking of somehow opening a place like a yoga studio but not exactly- because it’s the real yoga I’m after- where the postures are only a fraction of the equation- you know what I mean. Something low stress and sustainable that is in a pure, conducive setting and will support people in a deep all encompassing way. It’s just that I’m sitting in this graveyard yurt with dog ghosts and his residue everywhere and cannot think as clearly as I might about where this would be in the USA…and so do you have any intuition or insight on this? I don’t want to be in this dead cell but I’ll stay as long as I need to…I have to get Kali out of storage in NY. I now have an EXQUISITE CRYSTAL TARA. And the mother light calls…but from where…how to start, what to do…I want out of past associations that confine and demean me …and it’s a big deal. The emptiness that it’s all built around. The fact that nobody really cares and never really did. I’m just sitting here, in limbo…went to the river, sat in the sun, felt depressed and anxious, felt free and lost, felt old and worthless, felt nothing. Felt like writing to you. Felt like it’s all a waste of time and yet somehow I’m still alive. Many think everyone loves and supports me, it’s such a sweet and high minded gesture…and I know many do and have humbled me with their generosity and kindness….but mostly my worth is in connection to this monster I’ve created that took over my life. Yes it was sincere and true and yes Bhagavan Das is very powerfully special but the show biz part and the tiring pitiful low-grade glamour is too much, the burden of the dark weight that almost killed me twice. My life must mean more than that burden. This entire occurrence by the way was totally beyond my control. This thing became someone else overnight…and he knows it I told him and so believe me “he” knows it. But he is doing his monster thing, whatever was going on deep inside has risen and demands reckoning, I knew it. The little girl wasp grabbed his wrist long ago. “Don’t forget me.” She said. I always reminded him, but he didn’t seem to care. He pretends it’s because of me but he knows what he did, we both know whose in there…I don’t know if I should post this but I might. He’ll read it and he still won’t care, maybe you won’t come to the retreat but you should. We are soul friends forever, I love him, he is a 100% sincere Gid loving person unlike any other I have ever mer and his song is in my heart. Either way I’m getting this out there, I think so. He would want that even though he’s denying my words by ignoring them…and I’ll post it so that everyone can just dump me right now if that’s the plan and get it over with just like that. “She’s so awful, he’s so holy.” That would be helpful just like Osho said. It’s better they don’t think much of you and therefore nothing is expected. I like that position. You don’t know my life at all. I am a private and secretive person, it seems like I reveal all but I hide everything, that’s the truth. But sometimes I unleash unruly things because I must, it’s mysterious and destructive and I am not in control. It may seem reckless but it’s all written in the wisdom of the stars. How to find peace, to create out of your own dying a new life. I have always been sincere and held my integrity as humanly as possible no matter how I was degraded. I am not a hypocrite. I intensely practice what I preach and so I destroyed what was already dying. It’s called mercy killing. And so here I sit listening to a trickling creek on the first warm day since I returned to the past on Friday. I have no ambition, no enthusiasm, no direction, no nothing to move me away from the crypt. And yet move soon I must as these old voices are disturbing. It’s getting late…the daylight is fading…as I write these words a shadow jumps in my lap…I’m ok…I hear a bird making noises far away and I wish it were me…somehow redemption is at hand…because I won’t back down. Sharada Devi

love is a cold and broken hallelujah


The white horse, the red queen, the black light. I am no longer a virgin, to him or any other god. Bring on the end. I am Her. The entire circle and whoever enters, is mine. Down here, the winds blow.


 ruined. she laid her head on a rock. cold. she opened the door. devastation. alone, always alone. the empty room, i am flat. there is a stab that went dull. there is an anger that perished. it was less than me, i outlast them all. words don’t come to say to you, how she feels. nothing comes but the space inside her expanding. drowning out his voice, the hum. the low void, the passing clouds inside. and so i sit down here now slowly typing. listening to a heater try to warm me. feeling myself to be a vacancy strangely holding dark matter in space. i know you want something. down here there is nothing but the wind…


I felt the feelings and I didn’t move. I let everything fall that I was holding. There are no words for what I felt as I did what I had to do. My stomach had churned for days. This is not a time to remember but to forget. Let go and destroy. Ruthlessly whatever remains. I have done hard things around death and dying. But to kill while still living out of love is an altogether more tormenting initiation. I can’t leave him like this, but I must. Kill the mirror looking back. That was me today. My eyes weren’t blue at all, they were opals inside of his, burning pink flames casting gold daggers. This is the initiation into dimensions I would rather not see, ones I’ve heard of, today I felt. What happens at the end, every end. There is something loose and we unravel. The knots stay tight. Circulation increases to the extremities but the middle gets left to disperse however it can to keep the disowned pain down. The pain we turn to numb so that it devours us secretly. A mouth turned inward becomes our whole body, sucking this world to keep out the light. This phantom pain does that, we lurk for a time we can’t know within lines we can’t cross, imagining all sorts of ways we are free. This parasite comes from a hell deeper than he even has described, a subtle sinister overlay that isn’t one of the seven layers, isn’t a layer at all but more like a poisonous dust. We breath in and out, we obey. He was weak and rounded. He had given up on himself to this. Resented himself without definition because of me. Resorted to religion. Folded over and gave in to the distorted image in the dirty endless mirror. Although he said, “No that’s not true,” and, “We’re all dying.” I see the bending shadow, the reflection’s glare in my eyes, when he looks at me, beyond the perplexing dichotomy and disruption of current, I am seeing something rise that I always suspected. I gave warnings of danger, I gave all of my light. All I could muster from my own dismal depths was a pebble etched with a memory. Inside I hear the voice calling and I drop all possession, I have nothing. I am possessed. I follow the voice into darkness. I hear the voice pulling from terrifying corners, where ancient stars meet. Where old scars were formed, where wars started. Where I met him long ago at the peak. Destruction takes time in ways we can never comprehend. Creation depends on this decay. There should be more love, is what I thought. true love from the bottom of time. But what do I know about love and how vast the implication might be. That I would attempt a love that would destroy and seem cruel, but I did. I am bigger than myself or time. Than the face bearing lines in the mirror. I held a tree up for an eon. Roots came up from below and wrapped around me until I disappeared inside the earth’s spiral. My feelings have almost killed me many times. This acute intensity of unbearable emotion becomes a sort of character death in itself. I tried to find something. I gave everything to this something. My own safety, all of anything I had. I gave it all to him. For the love beyond this body. I gave my body. I made myself the sacrifice and hung from the hook of his moon horn crying God…love is a cold and broken hallelujah. Sharada DeviIMG_5065

even death, my now


There’s a weird feeling here. It’s a haunted place. I’m going to live with the fear of these ghosts, because I knew them. It’s always death under the blankets with me. I feel soft to myself and probably nobody else. But I’m here, all alone. Still alive and feeling something rise so deep from below, I want to get away. Get hurt by you.
But nothing compares to the sounds in the hallway. And yes, I’m afraid to not be the prettiest anymore. I’m afraid to be on my own with nothing. Others depend on me and I can barely depend on myself. So I came back, after India, after Guatemala, after killing the only ones who were waiting for me to come home. I came back, to America. To the past, all alone. I have nothing and that’s just the truth, the way it is. And I know everyone thinks younger is better. And I know I’m not particularly anyone’s first choice. My self esteem and self worth were wounded before Bhagavan Das but especially during those twelve years. The things people have done to me I can’t talk about. I have made it this far. It would be a lie to say I am comfortable in my own skin, especially now. I am simply waiting for the ice to melt, I must have left her, this fragment of me, back here…waiting for the wound to be opened again. More pain, more hurt, more loss. There is nobody when the door opens. There are old smells that remind me, shadows I imagine of little hungry dogs crossing the room. His eyes rocking across from me as I watch him spin a prayer wheel worrying how to take away the suffering of his old age. And I know it’s not just this experience, but my experiencing of this experience. Being old, being a faded image, being weak enough to hide behind a man so long banging cymbals, holding him up. Becoming the ground for others…and now, here I am twelve years later in an empty room filled with leftovers and forgotten dog toys. The aftermath. This dissolution came out of nowhere, this possession, him changing. The ruthless, lightening like slaughter. I am extremely unsafe right now, metaphorically and emotionally speaking. Yes, even in God’s perfect hands. It’s like having your eyes open in a dream. You know those dreams that hurt so deeply you wake up with tears in your eyes and worlds overlapping. Nothing will ever be the same. I will only grow older and more afraid of my uselessness. I sit for hours and hours, all night long trying to make sense of what happened,  but I can’t. Make sense of these ancient corkscrew demons. They fill the room twisting with faces I know, like mosquitoes. They’re unseeable by the human eye. But I see them, I hear them…buzzing in the darkness, I always did. They want my blood, all of it. Shapeshifters have taken us all. What can I do, nothing but wait to see what’s left for me to survive on, like a carcass or a prayer. The only thing to do is give up, the struggle is useless. The devastation too complete. My reality too death defying. And yet there is hope because I have seen myself in these ashes I write from. A beam of light in his eyes, silver bells that only I can hear. And so don’t feel I have lost you or left you because I’ve blown up the world, struck down the lackluster person you knew. It’s a new more solid shell, new more dangerous wings.  I am looking into space as I feel space. I sacrifice memory upon memory to the open blade of the moment. This is my spiritual knowing. These fears are my guru taking me in. “Look, see these walls that surround you. Feel this hurt from before. Bleed what you haven’t bled…be pale in the moonlight.” I tell you because I love you and I can trust you and I think you can handle it. I don’t know where to go or what to do but be here in the temporary holding cell. The bardo of before. But I will know because I am moving in the red flow of my rogue heart. This gypsy covered in flowers that nobody sees but the flowers themselves is the one who is real. This person I care for as myself. I said it because it’s true. “Let it be, let it go, love conquers all.” Give up the rest and let the true love for yourself move her forward. There is the cemetery I have created by destroying. There are the ghosts that decorate me by concealing me. There is an invisible moving force even greater than the urge to die, it is love. Your love that reveals me. Even here…even death, my now. Sharada Devi

mist, mirror.


My path is a pathless one. There is no name or anchor on anything, anyone. Hollow, empty, spacious. This little lost self afloat in the throat that opens to what can never be closed. This confinement that frustrates, the birth canal contracting. I have nothing and I am holding on because I’m here in the world of paths and names. To escape what I am about to enter. But I keep entering the same…nameless, un-anchored imaginary world of flesh bone and blood. So naturally searching for what I already knew…but couldn’t grasp, because never we can. Find the point of the pointless. I have a face, a condition, a cause. I get diagnosed, advised. Limitations increase the more I read I remember. The facts rules and details of paths and names. I try to stop hurting now that I’m lost by any method means or addiction. At this point I think I’ve found one- due to confused desperation. A point. A name for a security called God.  I did this all to myself. Caused this pain because I entered the place with the entrance. Although there must not truly be one at all. My path is pathless. Somehow. My religion has no god I presume that would take a personal interest in me. That’s the way out…I hope- I create. I have no personal being and if that god thinks I do, that’s not anything but a path and a name…that’s a trap. A warped mirror, including me. Who is this person crying looking for temples and statues who care? Who is the one secretly doubting the relevancy of prayers simply because, who am I praying to? My path would be pathless, but to call it so, creates a sort of path in itself. What is wrong with my mind- I am thinking from inside the little one’s brain, the intellect is square and it hurts. Crystal is multidimensional and therefore there is no answer or point, only endless fractions of forever recreating the same, manifesting nothing truly. Little inside smaller as even the largest nothingness we face. So then, naturally I begin looking for another canal. A new throat. A way out. It’s death perhaps…a new door. Could it be the relief that is also the terror I run from that causes my desperate search- that results in death being the answer. Which is also why I’ve done this. Why I’m here imagining existence. Possibly. Just conjecture. Who could ever truly know. Or die for that matter after everything I’ve just said and described. I could at least be useful if I could at least not get in your way as you look at me. I could speak in words that could be clues, deeper triggers that lead to a new deeper hole inside. Deep within where the blue light resides….I hope. Hope. I am stuck and I can’t get off my pathless path due to fear that my feet are moving in a direction of the footprints I secretly follow. A secret even to me. Out of fear, perhaps too rooted to be seen or found without being without. It’s a word that doesn’t exist that leads to any meaningful mind sound. Now we see we suffer in any direction simply because direction exists we end up hurting. Because we’re here in time being humans who move…on the fractal point into the eventual discovery of meaninglessness. Which I suppose could be meaningful. But once again, that’s distracted philosophizing which is only a theory. However I move I am defeated. Because I pushed and I wonder why…a need to do this again, an inability to die to the One, what One. That would mean two existed. And so I say, fuck it. And with a vengeance I get physically agitated and destructive. Another straight jacket. Another vice, escapism. Escaping what. My pathless path of course. I will make a difference, I will add and subtract and define. I will confine and project. I will charge and beg. Just to enthrone my beautiful crystal goddess below the holy mandala inside the box within this hell. So we can know nothing but this and be brave even then…so we can remember not to care for anything but rainbows in the mist. I think I am…mist, mirror. Sharada Devi 


like death and the butterfly


I’m backed up against the force of him the way a river hits the sun from afar. I’ve erased words from the page out of anger at God. What am I suppose to do with this. I’m not worried about payback or the seven deadly sins. I’m not hiding the sun just because I’m a cloud. I feed the creatures below my table and I don’t even know their name. I feel him walking up the hill with the sadness that precedes every journey. I say goodbye before I say good morning because I know how it goes. It goes where I left it, which was a long time ago. All you have is your story. Shut the fuck up and disappear. And I don’t mean hide in God’s magic words, I mean go. Down wherever you hid from yourself.  I told a corpse just a minute ago- one that was about to get cremated soon- “it’s not your fault.” He didn’t believe me. I get strange electrical pain down the sides of my body at night due to the upheaval, it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Not dreams, not shallow breathing. My hope is in not letting go. My fear is in holding on. My pain is in remembering. My love is in utter collapse. It’s all I have to watch anymore. Spiders and saints unraveling. Crawling toward me. Uphill. Smashed on the wall. Blood I can’t rub away. Guts that remind me of him. God, the forgotten one. And I don’t mean he’s holy or written down or I’m clean and pure, wings unwithered. No. It’s cold and it’s lucid waiting to destroy the remains. Before the sound of the incinerator starts and after the last breath is taken. My sickness is never physical although it results in manifestation. It’s the damned ripping out of the fooled, between worlds I recognize. You know what they call it, I don’t have to say it again. It’s the way we talk to each other in our sleep. This corpse was holding on to himself in a sad way. I said, “what can I do?” He said, “wash over me river.” The sun smiled from very far away. Of course I only ever imagined my anger because I love him. Bodiless and rare. The exotic dream birds fly very high in my dreams. The sound of beautiful voices live there too. Some are born. Some are not. Can I survive without him. Can I write another word without the alphabet. Can I ruin this habitat of leaches and worms underneath me sucking out my heart. Crying for a mother, any mother. I think I can. Kill them all. It’s the way the dark hits the floor all night long effortlessly falling yet floating in me. That’s how I plan to do it. When I talk about God I doubt you understand me. Feel the pain of my doubt and emptiness. I always wanted God to love me. Nobody ever came. I was open, it’s been tragic. Like a bird hanging upside down the way bats do. Like a blind eye which is meant to see. But it doesn’t matter now because he’s gone, merely an echo of light hitting water that never moves backwards. I am rising because I fall so hard. In love, toward death, inside of the burn between them. Compulsively I tear at my scabs. Open this wound and let him out. The corpse knows because I told him. “Stop kissing his fucking forehead, praying to his mother and give him the truth. It’s over.” There’s no third eye about it, not yet for him. They don’t care. We all hang waiting and it hurts until we’re dead and the proof is our old body is never recovered. You’re dead like this moonbeam. Hanging over my bed as I write. A strange fictional blue shadow light. It’s not a moonbeam is what I’m saying it’s an iPhone screen destroying my eyes. It’s not that you’re dead it’s this ugly noise ringing in my ears after the real words have left. I do not mean a mantra. I mean everything floating and sinking that you deny. So I’ll keep quiet. Write in fragments you can dissect and feel empowered by. Because I don’t matter. All I hear is my stomach growling like a wild beast since I left the holy shit hole of India. I find current conditions on earth specifically the ones circulating around images like god and poison like religion to be the embodiment of the antichrist. What does it mean to me. It means I get sick when I eat it or feed it to others. In any form. It’s over, you had your chance. Stop touching me. I’m sorry you’re old. So old you’re useless and desperate for followers. But not me. Just not me. I have nowhere to go. I will lose again and give up one more time. I will destroy your clinging life. I will cause reckless pain without even trying. I apologize in advance that you knew me. That time and space didn’t change a thing. Didn’t transport anyone to heaven via India. I’m a face for this ruin. I hope you become me. I focus on giving up as my life is a spiral of descent apparently roots are not formed from the bottom up my terrified angel. We have only just begun…


and you think something is wrong or that I need healing. But there is nothing wrong. There is only this bright sword cutting a head from a body. The chemtrails of America telling the sky we’ve forgotten. The difference between sinning and praying does not always exist. I don’t care ok. I’m moving because that’s what I do. Into whatever is before me. Including underneath, inside and over me. Being everywhere I am assuming the worst as well. Meaning I am strong like a black breath taken at midnight when everyone has died and forgotten they once knew. How to fly. There is no end my wild eyed bird, not to this jungle heat. Not to this heavenly weighted body…angels are everywhere just like God listens. It’s dark in this room but it’s not quiet. I hear creaking and groaning in all directions. There are probably things under my bed hoping I’ll touch them. It’s a lot of chaos that’s not in my best interest. Nobody benefits in a re-hash but the pope. I’m not a victim of seduction or a believer in social order. You can take this wherever you want to. It makes no difference at all. I told him…”I won’t stroke a ghost,” and that’s the bottom line. Then I blew and the wind stopped. What it was- was scary. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. The line fell is what I’m saying, the boredom ended. The rest is not reachable by words…like death and the butterfly. Sharada Devi


Scorpion breathing


The black sun is inside of everything. The moon is always behind her. Scorpions fall from the ceiling into my bed. The child waits all alone for her mother to return. But no one is coming back. The tail curls because the night is long and his pierce is sharp. Because the moon drives men mad and his desire is for penetration. From the womb and up, the wound is black. The sting is inside the bed at night as she curls beneath the opal light that shines through her window. He always watches me go. “Leave it all and come to me. I am in you.” Fill her body with a reason. Any reason to go further. It is his world down here, under these sheets. Where we fight the dark spiders, scorpions fall. I am not alone. Legs wrap and squeeze. The light changes from a crescent to a disk. The words change. I whisper in his ear looking for God, “Have you seen God. Some day, any day. Is God looking for me?” It is night. Far across the moon filled ocean the air is a cesspool of death and poison. I breath him in – in song and sky. Nameless unframed madness. Her burning eyes etched in black beg for money. The water dies filled with long ago fires and ash that has sunk. They don’t care. Nobody hears you. God doesn’t sing, God honks. There are windows those are not eyes. There are pits those are not souls. I am here spinning everywhere pulling him deeper. In this dirty room. Into me. Scorpion fire. Long crystal legs. Unedible food. Showers that stink like death sweat. I still want you. “God isn’t real,” she reveals- as man made oracles embed themselves deep in her silicon body. How to get here, underneath him. That is the question she answers. Slowly but surely. I am laughing. Don’t be stupid. Long slow moan into light. No. Not a light you can see, only feel in this particular dark. Poison dusk. Wrathful deep destruction of God pictures and patterns. A hole into you. Dark sun astral force. Invisible enemy sticks it into my body. Loud people walk the streets aimlessly. Piles of dirt blow smiles into the air, “I’ll kill you. Yes I will. You should do this for me. ” His vehicle is black smoke. Her mouth is blue stain. His movement is unseen. Her madness is untouched. “Go ahead and blow me out of the water.” Take back the love that had rings. Pull the blankets over these dead timeless bodies. As we pray. As we pray. As we pray. Decay. Yes. I said I love you. Back. Again and again. Where’s my driver. Insane my lungs are filled with his venom. I am devoted. I am as toxic as the light that glows from inside of these windows where I watch animals fuck like computers change screens. And we want the words that will reach us. But we don’t scream. We don’t cry. We don’t ask. We just grunt and roll over. There is never another day behind the wheel. It’s always his light. It’s always her shadow. It’s my body inbetween the sheets where scorpions fall into bed. On top of me, my love. All is attraction. They say it’s a maddening initiation. Like a drug that numbs your lips and churns your stomach. He is inside rising. She is a pearl slowly dying because his body isn’t real, it’s her anger taking over. The streets down below. In the sewers where we walk. Waste deep. Night after night. Looking for clean girls with warm laps. Thrones for a dead dog. I’ve already eaten. That dog was diseased. Barked all night, feared every cat. One slow amber gold eye. One long grind back to the morning. Scorpions sting because we are lost and need guidance. If we didn’t it wouldn’t happen I was told. Death works through people this way. Pointing out hidden messages and providing lyric that moves us to undulate and call out for answers -we never hear ourselves calling. We think we are him and his sunrise. We think her shape changes with age. We think the waves overcome us and create tides. We think the pearl is a result not a cause. We think no one loves us because no one can. Not with all the honking and howling and half closed eyes. Ignoring themselves in her reflection and in his gaze. India is the worst place on earth. The longest trap standing. I chewed off my leg to get back to McDonald’s. I held out my tongue for another drop of his kill. I wanted to love you like flowers come in colorful bouquets and smell like heaven. But you’re mine and we must eat and survive this profane contradiction. You’re mine, bloody mother of night where truth falls on beds as light dies into wisdom. Give me more. I can take it all the way to another death. He is the One who captures seduces and destroys me. I am the One that sings to him to love me again. And again. Satisfaction ceases to occur. The light is all mine. Even in darkness. Because I am what is and no one can stop me or feed me back to myself. Ode to defeat. I mount every corpse with the jewel of my intangible heart throb. There is this pounding. This aching. This throbbing. That is my message. Get up and enter the unknown of anything moving inside. Until you get what you want. Find him fucking with you and fuck back.  That’s all I’m saying. Don’t be alarmed. Turn red. Love me back. “I can’t get no satisfaction.” I might get a slender cat and teach her dog tricks…you’ll never catch my cat. Not like the dog who died in my arms. Because a mantra isn’t enough, neither is a collar. Love love love alone is the sling. Sharada Devi is the sting. Scorpion breathing.

everything I have


Sorry it’s been so long. I’ve been trying to write you. Waiting until I can say something uplifting that’s honest. The truth is, reality is harsh when the light strikes deep and we are still looking for a way to turn for comfort or resolution. I am in the inbetween in a way as never before. I have shaken my fate as I hear a knock on my door that isn’t even real. As I look in a mirror at a face that isn’t even mine. As I write words that will be forgotten or misunderstood. Even if you try and I understand, I am still just a dying breeze. Even if you understand I am trying, I am still just a fading sound in the distance. The sounds that keep me awake all night. The breeze that chills my bones. These things are me, me not knowing where to turn. In samsara there are millions of hands. All we do, something else, something new. All we drop, someone old, something passing. I am here in this and there is no escape from the eventual seeing, that this pain is unavoidable. That we have nothing else to do but awaken the awareness of this intense suffering. Why do we strive as we do for an answer. Why do I maneuver for relief even when I know there is none. Samsara is a grip that will not let go until we do. Samsara is a place that turns on itself with no friend at all. There is no escape from this tight spot of anguish. The numb of denial cannot last. And so everything is taken. Surrendered. Let go of and still I search for why or how to save us from ourself, myself. The exhaustion, the grief also has a name. That name is religion. I really did lose in this life. Over and over just one failed attempt after another. Can’t you see you’re ineffective as long as you’re in the maze still playing with doors and keys, do’s and don’t’s, inspirations and occupations. Searching for eyes deeper than yours. I cannot struggle over a wall that is insurmountable, playing by these rules. Somewhere out there…India is waiting…he will love you…people will care…there will be an answer that brings relief…the dog will stop scratching…you will make a difference…the loss will bring hope…somewhere out there…the world will sing louder…money will
solve what’s missing…tears will build new tomorrows…you won’t be afraid or weary anymore. One day you will get it right, give enough away. Say the words they’ll understand. Your life will make sense, you’ll find the ambition to care enough…to try harder. You will stop the suffering long enough to know you did something right. Right. And I dropped it all. And I left for God. Out there, way out there. 20 hours in a plane. Days in a fume filled car. Lung infection, food poisoning. Dead dark Indian eyes. Costume jewelry. Religious trinkets. Horrible, horrible light. The truth kills me until I stop breathing. I stepped in the silver blue Ganges river and my heart began aching. No joy. Only the meeting of more loss. “Soon I will be underground. I will never leave you even though you will not see me. I am the throb that makes you do the insane, the anguish that pushes you down. The flight of the arrow is because of my desperate love, the ceaseless flowing through the dark of samsaric stagnation. And the dead bodies fall into me and rise knowing we never met. And still I move…I am the river of pain filled, relentless light. I am also inside of samsara. I am also the bringer of grief.” Who wants to know? This isn’t my body. I have no home. There is no wise guru waiting. The temples are restaurants. I cannot do anything that clicks without dying to the cause. Who wants to know that truly, there is only me in this tight, hot corner. I can give up everything and it’s still not enough if I really want the truth. Nowhere. Nothing. Never ever. I went all the way to Mother India to be told, “Go back.” My heart is finally irreparably broken. I could tell you why forever and it wouldn’t matter. I keep trying to leave what can’t be left. Only seen vividly and embraced in the deepest most confusing place. Myself.


I am invisible. I hide behind a blinded curtain. I hide without trying. I wind and I wrap, unravel. Uncover, undress. Always hidden. Deep, where you wouldn’t want to go. And there I wait, under glassy water. Motionless. Spotless. Not expecting to be heard in such a place. Not hoping to be seen. Nothing. I churn you from nothing. Want me. You can’t find me. Want me more. Deeper yet never touching. Invisible. Although she moves. Feelings like water. Nothing stirred. Too low to find the source of heat. Invisible. Hold my hand. Eye drain. Circle me more. Glass. Nothing breaks her. Waves pull. Origin, beginning without end…the grief. The emptiness after the touch. No full heart, only leaking. The grief that nothing is pure. That pornographic images exist as replacements for me. More perfect, more touch worthy. The old man is walking towards me and I remember him. Myself inside the images I tried to destroy. It all hurts, this body that nobody loves. Is it in a place called India. The voiding of these, my dead fingers. Is there a land in his eyes that never knew countless girls? No, it is the end. The end of what killed me. Acute, unreachable longing for a divine beyond what I could muster. Captured in sexy swimsuit fantasies and long, shiny blond hair. Not cut and wasted, not at all hurt by pain. Seeping in through every crack and wrinkle, the sting of untouched beauty…the story. I wanted to say, there is a bigger word. A larger picture, the eyes say a million words. Words I can’t say, only touch in the space of what words can’t argue. The look of it all. And I see the tipping ocean, and I hear waves of light. And I feel sound bodies crashing. In my story. I can’t ever tell you how lonely I’ve been. I haven’t felt a word that didn’t hurt. Not a sound that didn’t ache, my eyes have been closed. Remembering silence. The roots of silence. Where I look, into noise and face the blank page. All this reaching. All this hoping. I owe you, I know. I could give you a brighter version of me if I had words to give, it’s the chapter where it all gets erased in false hope and other people’s guidelines. It’s the chapter where I lose the last letter, like the last dollar. I know this is the wall I’ve been charming. I know it’s the breech. I have received the call in the silence. I have heard the words without sound. I accept. I surrender. I turn around and I go back. It’s this corner. This hot, lonely tight corner. I write you from here. Looking for nothing at last. I surrender by choice not by force. I am the fortress. The path of the last one. There is nobody left. I saw that in their eyes. I brought Tara. I brought words carved in gold. I brought a diagram of samsara, at least a hundred years old and torn. Faded but still held. In his perfect hooves. By his three turning eyes. These are the walls. Everything changes. Even gods turn to morning’s dust. Another me. “There will never be another me.” Thank God. We already know that inside. Forget the commercial temple. The Mother Light fortress rises from inevitable death. Protect us from the lie that buries us deeper in her sorrow. Remember us inside your forgotten walls. Remind us of the noise that takes, and shakes and flattens. Rise. Rise within these walls and see. Above and below. Back and forth. Flip me into another time. Out of time. Blackened by seconds. White out. We already know there are no rules set in stone but ourselves as the rock. We already know no key fits the hole but the whole body. Fortress with no tongue. Escape my empty mouth. Get out. Slip into the release hole. Wet slide gap….I was looking for answers (Death is God’s name.) The white lotus. The clear crystal gaze. The shattered dream. Your face in my eyes. Arms that collapse under the pressure of madness. Tear back the veil, all is behind me. Underneath me, new beginnings come from the tears that drop. I stood in the doorway. I just keep looking down and you’re never there. I touch the lips of the dark, “Be silent.” I close my eyes and look within. Deeper. Falling. Lying still. These stairs, downward. You’re never there. I had skin that covered me, I read about dying. I tried all the concoctions, said all words you wanted to hear. I bled all the red left inside of the dreamer. I came to the door and I waited. I am gone. Everyone’s gone. You are the one. Down there. Never talking. But I hear. Breath dropping. The moon inside me growing large. The moon outside me disappearing. The voices fade. And God remains. Whoever you call to the bottom, I’m waiting. At the front, I am the end. Through me. I go through me. The doorway. Who are you hiding. Behind. Underneath. My love lies waiting, softly tearing skin from bone, crying eyes filled with me. My love lies hiding, whispering, listening. Defying the end of us both. I stood looking over her. There was nothing left but me, remembering how it hurt pushing through -and how she screamed God’s name loudly inside- and how I died watching her go. She died, arms filled with sky…and that, my love, is the doorway. We all pass. It is simply me. Open from below. Death is God’s name (love is the answer) I will always be here for you, I will be your home. I vow that as long as I am in this body, I will make India live in me. I will make her flourish, her rivers flow, her waters sparkle. Her temple is here. Bhagavan Das sent me this email one day. I was very sick just laying in the Indian hotel grief stricken. He said,  “Pray really hard with all your heart to Mother India, she is there somewhere, the valley spirit never dies, she is the eternal Mother of the earth and sky. Endlessly creating. Endlessly pulsating. The spirit of the Valley never dies. She is called the Hidden Creator. Although She becomes the whole universe Her immaculate purity is never lost. Although She assumes countless forms. Her true identity remains intact. Whatever we see or don’t see. Whatever exists or doesn’t exist. Is nothing but the creation of the Supreme Power. She is limitless, unborn, eternal. Her essence can only be reached by the Hidden Creator. She is the very face of the Absolute. The gate to the source of all things eternal. Listen to Her voice Hear it echo through creation. Without fail. She reveals her presence. Without fail. She brings us to our own perfection…OM TARE TU TARE TURE SWAHA. You get to hold crystal Tara in your lap all the way Home. Deep mountain lake heart love.” Bodhibaba


So I prayed and I prayed, “Please live in me. Please don’t disappear so deeply that there won’t be a way, let me take you in me, with me. Possess me with your soul roots. I have nothing for them but your fruit.” And then in my mind I heard the voice of an old wise Indian man say to me, “What is temple? You are temple. Go to the holy place. It is not India. It is you. India saint. India makes you sick go home. (I said) I don’t have a home. (he said) You are home. (I said) I don’t have anything. (he said) You have you. All you need. Take home. Be well. Catch the sky. Your eyes are lit. Stars pass through. The temple is God. You find it. You will leave the place that nobody leaves because there is no way out but through. It’s only you. Great Saint. Holy land. Feet of Gold. Nowhere. Nothing. Count down. Move. Be gone.”


So it was clear that I had to return. I tried everything to make it work. I couldn’t eat, drink or breath. I am sorry. India made me very sick from the first day onward. There is nothing left worth going for. Samsara is too far reaching. We must break through this knot together. We must dig within deeper than we ever thought we could go. I cannot ask you to go to a place filthier and more toxic than anywhere I have ever been. I must do this myself. Create the Mother Light. With everything I have I will enliven her and I have only this promise left to you. Her light will prevail in ways we did not imagine. Religion is permanently broken. There is only us and the earth that we stand upon. I could barely find the words to say something too big to yet know…to say the least I have been overwhelmed and shaken to the core of truth. We are in the dark time. Darker than imagined. We are her vessel. India is not a destination. She is the essence of feminine invincibility. Nothing will stop the shine that is rising. Be with me. Help me. I need you. I cannot do this alone. Your love, support, prayers, and faith is all I have. I take your love very deeply to heart. Here we will create the Mother Light as a refuge. Together as one devoted flame. In the darkness this righteous fire will be her face. In the loss this clear seeing will be her true love. The earth knows us here and we will grow in compassion as never before. Beyond religion and boundaries no longer needed. In this fortress we call Home, God shall rise within this frail human body as the Mother Light of invincible, immaculate love. I can only promise you my broken heart forever. I can only give you myself with everything I have.  Sharada Devi


India, ash, flame and flower. Be with me.


I know I’m trying to part the Red Sea. But we have to rise from this inertia and despondency. We can’t go on pretending it’s ok because it isn’t. That’s why the Karmapa is here. That’s why Jesus died and Buddha grew roots under the tree. We came as the tear of Avalokateshvara. I take it upon myself to remember and be brave in the midst of this earth’s suffering. I need your help. I cannot do it alone is the truth. I have sacrificed and surrendered all that I could. I gave up my house, my dogs, my car. I gave up secure relationship, income. I gave up family prisons that are always a reliable net to fall in. I gave it all up for God. For faith. Put to the test. I was just meditating and praying to Avalokateshvara for help. I was told to ask for his help through you. You are the carrier of his light and one of his countless compassionate arms. I have faith. I have nothing but your arms to carry me- and I’m not just saying this, it’s true. I have left the USA in search of answers. There is a calling. I have been riding on the wave of annihilation for many years now and I’ve finally hit the shore. I am all alone in this basic way and yet am lifted by your love. I bow in reverence to you all for what you’ve already given. Time is limited. I am moving in a big way and it’s unknown but determined. I feel the big heart pulling us together as many pieces broken and yet filling that space of Mother Light on this earth. The feminine has been breeched. The systems- including “spiritual” are inevitably collapsing. I am not a savior or messiah so don’t get me wrong. I am simply a wounded woman at this time on earth, in this body, listening to the sound of the big song- behind, before and underneath us all. Rising, creating. Destroying, dancing. Breathing the breath of life versus death. I will do anything for you. Because I know you are me. I know I am the homeless crippled man I gave money to on the street corner. I know this and we all suffer equally without each other’s compassion. So I write this to say please help me in a very practical way. Please donate. I am on the way to India searching for a way. I have left Bhagavan Das in Guatemala and am financially supporting him. I am funding this cause on my own and I have virtually nothing. I am doing this because I have to- for myself and for any of you who resonate with the calling. I am not searching for gurus or learning about Hinduism. I am not preaching Buddhism or trying to be your teacher. I am your friend and I just need your help. It’s pretty simple. I am going to start holding retreats in India. Affordable, meaningful retreats. Personal, intimate gatherings that go deep into the warmth of the ash. I need funds to secure properties. I need funds to fund this mission. I will do anything for you. I will take your picture and float it in the tiny flame and flower boats that are released into the Ganges with a prayer. I will burn your picture to ashes and blow it into the Ganges in Varanasi. I will bury your picture under the Bodhi tree in Bodhgaya. I will cut out your head and give it to Kali. I will pray for you. I will offer your written prayers into the Ganges. I will make magic on your behalf. I will take your picture and prayers to the Monlam. I will seriously and earnestly, in person pray for you at the holiest of holy sites. If you send me a picture of yourself, a letter- anything. I will come through for us all. I need your help and financial support. Any offering large or small, all helps. Any donation given can be applied if you choose to the Sept 4-15 India retreat- or any retreat. One reason why I am doing this is because it goes against my nature to ask for anything as I have always felt myself to be an island- but life has taught me otherwise- and so I surrender at the mercy of your feet because I know the great white Guru is in you. And I pray you will receive my words with understanding and not be offended. Also, I will write daily from India on the blog posting pictures and letting you know how it’s going. I will put up videos made in India on YouTube. I know it’s all no big deal in a way but it’s all I can do. I really do need you- in the way a flower cannot grow without the sunlight. OM MANI PADME HUM.

*I don’t even know if my donation button works. If not please donate at

This will make my efforts possible and generate the compassion of the deity. This will help Bhagavan Das who needs you as he cannot travel anymore. This will help me do anything I can for you. Practically speaking everything takes funds to manifest, it’s just the facts. And heaven and earth are two arms on the same body. My heart you hold as his teaching to me. When the Karmapa looked into my eyes and blessed me my life forever changed. And I saw Avalokateshvara -and I knew women, even me- have been imprisoned and it’s not the fault of men. It’s just that we forgot each other and when I saw him on that day larger than any god could ever be- I remembered Him as Her. That is who we are. The tears of His love. Her body. We are not separate from anything or each other. I offer my tiny life to this boundless, mind boggling compassion. It makes no sense and I am crazy like the moon. I know we are made of a tangible dream. A wild dream inside a blazing light that we together created. The Mother Light of his shimmering tears on moon water is the path. Homeward bound back to the star is the flame. My devotion in your hands is the flower. Please help me. I am sincerely taking action and not advantage. I need your prayers, blessings and I really need literal donations – these offerings will make the impossible possible. The invincibility of compassion is that we all embody Her melting heart space and that is why we are One. I offer all that I am to this mystical fire.

India, ash, flame and flower. Be with me.
Sharada Devi