Transmutation, the reversal of gravity


Everything changes, faces fade away and our words come back to haunt us. Words like love and forever. I’ve heard it all and watched most everyone sink into obscurity. It’s a slow boil. Time passes and gravity takes hold of even the once lightest heart. There is no deal making, no compromising in time. No way to be free without fighting for freedom. Because it’s a trap. This recycling dilemma of the ancestors. Most humans fail at getting out, from the swamp. We just die to this body momentarily, face our self generated demons in the bardo and soon pop back out again, somewhere. Maybe earth, maybe human, maybe not. But it’s not easier next time, all is forgotten. So there is the starting over of suffering once again. The karmic hooks bore a little deeper, the neurosis and fear a bit more prolific and we slowly become another version of what we were before. Minus the good karma we wasted, plus the deeper grooves we created, and hopefully a good deed here and there will get us out of a couple tight places. Why is everybody in denial of what this is? It’s such a horrifying nightmare what I see going on with everyone all around me. The giving up, the bargaining, the weakness. There is so much at stake with our short time here on earth why would you want to waste it imagining family and friends, ownership and titles? Death is coming very soon and before you get to that moment of no more breath you’re likely to suffer immensely in body mind and soul because of what you knew and didn’t do, because of the time wasted in insecurity and fear. Because of laziness, ignorance and greed. Because you wanted power, to be somebody. And even if you got these things, they don’t matter now because you’re dying and since you didn’t find a way to face death before death, since you didn’t “die daily” and I mean really- you’re now entering a situation left to chance with no practice at all. And that’s a big risk to take considering it’s the one and only test of all you’ve ever done. How you exit this stage of role playing and attachment to body, thoughts and possessions. I’m just saying, everyone fades. When people don’t get the power or whatever they want from me they disappear and years later reemerge barely recognizable. Pulled hard by the demons of gravity and chaos. Their faces hardened, their bodies swollen, their eyes dull, their purpose forgotten. The righteous fire diminished. All for what? Comfort? Because you thought you could get out of facing your shit? It eats you if you don’t eat it. This is alchemy, eating your shit. Digesting your poison, not taking in and making more, but stopping and letting it rise and circulate, transmuting the poisonous shit into the nectar of the gods. Becoming who you are instead of prolonging the role playing. You’re only copying your mother, missing your father, destroying your children’s future by making them into you. Because you have no choice but to become your ancestors. It is their blood that fills you and programs you. There must be a shift into the deep understanding of what this place is and requires for true fulfillment. There must be an understanding of the game if you hope to be victorious. It is a game you’re caught in, fully invested and unaware of the truth you must embody. The truth is in the shit. Take a good look at what you’re working with. Do something about it. Stop trying to get something to end your pain and confusion, it’s pitiful. You’re better than that. Get out of the human baby creating drama and move through your own body scanning as if you were the eyes of the sun. Shining light into all dark and forgotten places. Why are you settling for monotony and inertia? It is your choice. You have a choice. Get your priorities straight. Take a deep look into your sad lonely eyes and tell me what you see. Why won’t you save the right person- yourself. You are useless to any endeavor if you can’t heal your own deepest wounds. But for this to happen the poison needs to rise. It’s an equation and it’s a delicate issue of transformation and re-creation. Like Buddha said, “If you don’t like the effect, change the cause.” You sell yourself to this place like a worn out whore. Why? One reason is because you’re surrounded by ignorance and ignorance only encourages the same violent dull result. We need the violence that brightens. The wrathful action that cleanses all impurities and stops the clock from dragging you down. Lift up your face, stop sagging. Change your posture in the deepest way. There is a way out. But like they say, “You need to want this for yourself more than I want it for you.” So I can do and say nothing but watch you fade away, because somehow you want to. Because deep inside you just won’t open your eyes to the light that you come from. Because you still think there is something on earth that will complete you. A house, a job, a child, the dream of name and fame. Nothing will complete you but your own poison transmuted and churned into the soma that will transform you into the eternal golden light goddess or god that you truly actually are. There are no short cuts. Only direct confrontation and decisive action. Results only result from the wrathful, relentless cutting away of the self sabotaging delusions we are bound in. We must be free from the heavy confusion of samsara to enter the clarity of the light of nirvana. And I mean usefulness, not bliss. I mean we must become the meaning of our own existence, not the other way around. Set yourself up for the victory. Stop being a loser. It’s an equation. It’s God’s will. Transmutation, the reversal of gravity. Sharada Devi


Bird under water


I picked up a dead yellow bird and dropped her to the bottom of the ocean. Death was inside of me. He told me I couldn’t swallow. The walls were all yellow and I was afraid. I was spinning, while he spoke. Becoming a sharp piece of something. A dagger I had imagined, a useless tiny beak that stabbed through the water as the little bird sunk, yellow. Into nothing but weight. A threat in my mind really, all of it. A heavy boned body, this task of annihilation. Self imposed annihilation. Claustrophobic rubbing, the hard knot. He said I wasn’t anybody. Not really. That I was a current that made an impression. That the essence of the sky was the yellow I saw. That the walls were inside me. That truly, i couldn’t stop swallowing anyone that would have me. Broken,
throated bird on the floor undressed. At the bottom, songless and so loud it was deafening. Undressing herself inside of no one. Death was inside me, in this room with me. Sitting up against a dark wall watching me while I talked about my pain. Pain I couldn’t have possibly swallowed, but he said I did and because of it I made all kinds of sharp things inside me. Sharp and watching he listened while I told him everything. I originally asked him if he could help me, because nobody could. Well, at least I didn’t think so. He was the only one I ever asked. He said, “How do you feel?” I said “What?” He said, “In your body, what are you feeling?” I said, “Cold. Nothing….You.” He smiled softly and said, “If you were to open this feeling up like a package what would you find?” And I tried to feel it my body, a shiver, a pang, something hot and ready to move. And I bared down and pushed into all the shards of icicles made of rage, broken shafts made of loneliness forgotten. I probed until I nearly shattered, or collapsed wet and houseless on the floor before him. Naked, lost and abandoned. Slowly turning into a pale blue ghost…a ghost made of stained sky and trapped water…until finally, words began to drip from my mouth. “If I open you like a package I find the loss of me regretfully full of seeing, touching, dry heaving in every direction, but strangely. Somehow you’re so strange. I can never find your arms…” And as I said this I knew I was lying. “I am a liar yellow bird, because I’ve never been born, because your eyes are all I have, watching.” He was leaning into the shadows of the golden room, hooded eyes within a graceful ageless body listening- defying me, knowing already no matter what I say, the ways that I weave myself back into him over and over again. “You know it’s not true.” I said, “I miss you, everywhere I look is you inside me. I miss you, the way you cover me so that I can stop talking, thinking, answering questions.” He sat silently breathing my body inside and out. Watching. “I want home.” Is what I was thinking. There isn’t a choice is what I knew already. “Come to me.” He whispered as I slithered across a floor that didn’t even exist, between us. “Isn’t this fun?” He asked. I said, “Aren’t you lost without me also?” Killer was the sound I heard, the sound that surrounded everywhere. This was my father invisibly made from scratch. There is nothing else. Only him, magical him. He said, “Get back inside you’re a bad bad girl.” And I jumped, straight as a pin, into him. And I arched like a rainbow and I opened my eyes inside of him. And he pushed me out again and we laughed in all colors. “The room has changed.” “It never changes, you’re a liar. I don’t kill, I catch and release.” And we laughed again a rainbow of death all around me. We laughed until all the sharp hooks and points began to poke holes in my skin from within and I bled like a wild sprinkler all over the room, spraying my lover in fresh fragrant blood. Covered in blood drops and shining with me, he laid down and I got on. Here we go again. The ride to end all rides. “I’ll steer.” I said. “Stop pretending, little bird.” “Then I’ll slither?” I asked hoping for more. Radiant gemstone. Snake body, heart of wings. Love is all we say. The love only I can give without words- though we talk about how when and why. “Take me and make me,” He said, “Into the black snake man that knows how the story line goes.” “Beating heart, I always want you inside me.” And I said this because I knew what cold and empty really is. I knew what not to touch, the walls I don’t see yet describe like I’m someone whose there, when really I’m dead from the beginning of time. No one can see his eyes and live, that’s what I want. His eyes that go on, with me living in them as his glance forever pulling the light back to home. This is what happened, what always happens to those who seek the unsurpassable peace- Death went in and I never left. We’ve been together watching, catching and releasing ever since. For each other, from the peak of the highest place, to know no other. From another place. These perfect immaculate arms- neither scales nor feathers are beyond the skin of the mind’s last night before the dying. Here on virgin earth, making death the cause for any worthy life. “You don’t understand.” Is the portal. “Yes, yes I do.” He whispered all over the walls colored yellow. The tunnel made of red moonlight. “Yes, yes I do.” He exhaled as I turned limp like an unborn flower in the stream of an unseeing night. “Yes, yes I do.” He inhaled and as I opened my soul’s mouth he blew back the blue end of loneliness. This winged serpent who watches the sky from the seat of the sun, who owns the biggest tree ever rooted in earth. Who winds up and down every body, who spreads open eternity, eventually, based on the love of true death, is the one we should listen to. Besides death I sit, under it all quietly, penetrating the vivid waters of human pain. Enthroned. I am simply a shell for the waves, an emblem for the moon crown. Naked black body of breath, he is the only God who cares enough to meet every last person ever imagining creation. Face to face destruction. This love is the only love that’s true. That is mine. The union of death with his bride. The song unsung below us. We are one with the one. I call him Black Sun. No one sees him at all. He sees everything and owns this world that fills you. This is the lineage of the invisible moon axis, who sends us sideways to him as he leans into our darkness knowing always what we need to be free.

Bird under water. Sharada Devi


Naga Rat


There was an ache in his head. A rat in the cage. Only the babies keep dying. Her arms are long, long enough to reach into silence. The rat cries,
this cage isn’t home. I ache like the stillness of midnight. Bars rattle silently, a bony fear quivers in his motherless body, This isn’t my ache, this isn’t my head. I see where this goes is where it always goes. Reaching for something that cannot ever be. The silence of someone who sees. Into me, spaceless and chewing at death who has trapped me. Inside of you and your wants. I have nothing to give you. I gave and I gave of myself looking for the roots of the ache.
It was the urge to devour, become everything I was. For yourself who is caught. In a cage with no mother for food. And then there is this rain that keeps falling, these dogs underneath the house, this remnant of daylight left only until tomorrow. Kali said, “Give it to me.” And so I did, but didn’t know what I was giving since everything was on my list and the baby was shaking loudly inside the music. Kali maheshwari parvati shankara sharanam sharanam sharanam ma. There isn’t a single prayer that can stop this death, not a single word you can say to save him. I gave him to her, thinking of you. Whoever you are, pretend it’s me. I don’t know. The way is through the bloody triangle. The sound of fear is in your eyes. My purity cannot be tainted by any body or movement. There is no one who can hold me down while I’m reaching. Up to him, up to him. He isn’t far now. Pull me inside, pulling him down. Inside. Little rat, greedy taker. “I look like jesus sometimes.” I heard him say that to himself as if jesus were his brother. Poor caged rat, poor beloved corpse. Death upon my body is the smile inside the smoke, body of smoke. I do not mind the smell of burning flesh and I do not fear the perfect knot. Tied inside his head, no room for the eye of God, no reason to even look at me. And still I keep him, bound in his cell. Music playing, rain and wind knowing. Dogs begging, fear gripping, desire rising, heart aching, mother calling, father going, me. Just me, doing it all. Waiting for no one, hopelessly alone and watching death run it’s course. It’s only a baby. And I gave the baby to death. I brought flowers and candles and I blew a final breath over his sweet body…time will take care of the rest. I come from blood, the pulse, the ticking. I come from your panic risen. I come from an angry sex box exploding. I come from the ones who chew through their prisons. I come from the sound of her voice, what she says. “Get out of my way.” There is the naga. There is the head of the snake. Over the rat. Waiting to eat. I bring everyone together. Inside and out. The ritual becomes what she needs to devour. Bodies covered in each other making shameful noises. Bodies writhing in guilt, guilt for what’s been created and for what’s been taken. The lust of animal murder, the innocence goes first. “I will be first, mount the world with all the lights on me.” And I said, “Little baby rat, you’re in a cage. The lights are the candles I lit offering you to death herself. The sounds are the fading of your life, the fear is the scent she will follow to find you. And I am here doing it all, as the mother who sacrifices her only child to darkness and sin…”


“Did I sin?” Said death from the darkness of fear. Fear where baby rats hide, dreaming of their prowess with no hope at all. I ignore stupid question like that btw….then I heard a sound like the low growl of a wolf from the back of the room where her doorway was waiting -and I knew she was here. So I left the room and let her do it alone, eat her child back again into the bodiless state of motherly desire. Back and forth I open and close my mouth like I’m crazy and bored. Back and forth I open and close my eyes like I don’t care or even see what I know. Back and forth, in and out of my spiraling body…I think it’s funny you think there’s any space between us at all, any thought I don’t think. Any you I don’t fuck in circles. Head blown. Life on the floor left in shadows and dirty paw prints. These dogs think all the food is for them. They’re so stupid. Poor dogs, the ones who curl in your lap and stick their tongues in your mouth looking for milk while rats fuck in the oven not even knowing what fucking is and when her babies are taken she just eats again until another guy rat comes to fuck her in the warm darkness of this curse. Despite all my rage, I’m still here. And it sucks all over the place. Bodies talking nonsense while I plan everything in advance as if I’m separate and controlling the naga who knows. Me seeing in his shifty eyes. Me tasting in his pitchfork tongue. Me thinking in his mind madly. Me the secret in his death softly pulling…it’s all my voice you hear, it’s all mine. And only nobody knows. When I’ll come next, if I’ll come back. If love is real. Why death speaks in riddles and how a mother could ever eat her only child. What if I was right and you were the only one left. And you were a rat and your mother forgot you from the very beginning and thought only of me. Me and the king. Naga who knows…something besides your little rat making dick. And it’s all reckless music really with me inside having gone completely insane, covered in clouds that are strangely empty spilling astral blood that is perfectly red and filled with stardust. This equals love, equals my moves, becomes my cage, takes you out, into me, no me. Nothing but minus fear meaning light sounds filled with the truth of food. What we need is to eat God out. Out of this wretched house of rats and back into me, the animal queen. The only voice, beyond hearing is the primal growl. The deep snake moan. The naga box rattling me loose, into you. Into me, this hungry mouth that fits and fucks whatever fills it. And I know because my throne is filled with useless bones and tiny yellow teeth.

Naga Rat, Sharada Devi


The Mother Light of pure unconquerable love


The essence of who we are is that sound makes light. The brightness of that light depends on the sounds we make. The power of that light depends on how we move our body. The magnetism of our being is determined by the combination of the two. It’s about action. Karma is action. The truth of who you are, these factors- can’t be faked. It takes determined sadhana and the right conditions that you generate by aware decision making, resulting in an environment and association that will yield your highest potential as quickly as possible. As quickly as possible is important as we do not know how long our lives will be. So this is about efficiency and a natural sort of renunciation from the ridiculous snares of samsaric fears and attachments. It’s just a fact, you get out what you put in. Awareness causes pain- a facing down deep of all that lies buried. Those riches as yet undiscovered will need an alchemical overhaul in order to serve us, fuel our further awakening. Until then, they are the demons we serve in bondage to our imagined karmic prisons rather than empowered by our decisive and determined action. You can theorize that you can have it all, stay stuck, deny it. Pretend you are not looping in the demonic realm of the ancestral knots- but you are. You’re all tied up, in servitude to material suffering and nothing will change that until you apply the fearless power of absolute decision and do what you must to create the conditions that will free you from the dense vibration of your familial pit and lift you into the spiritual lineage that as yet lies buried beneath the lies you serve regarding who you are and what you actually owe the world. Which is nothing. You owe nothing to the culture of death. Be reborn. Destroy the box you call home and be bigger. Fill the space of your divine potential. Dedicate yourself to a profound sadhana. Get into a situation where satsang is possible. Do something now, time is not on your side until Saturn is. I mean Saturn the yogi, not Saturn the devil. Two sides of the same coin and it’s all about you, where you’re at. Kali who is also considered a form of Saturn is not black. That’s your problem. Shiva, the supreme yogi is Saturn. The current president is also Saturn- you figure out that vibrational equation. What you’re doing to yourself by justifying the matrix. It’s not like anyone said it would be easy. It’s painful ripping away the veil, being lighter- more sensitive and subtle. It hurts being pure subjected to televisions and noise- it’s your problem. Where you reside and with who. What you’re doing, the excuses you make. The examples you set. The hypocrisy really. We need to be more ruthless with ourselves, more wrathful with this inertia- settling into old age and awful, heavy conditions. These are the truths that must be faced with awareness, equanimity and the urge to destroy the box we are stuck in. You DO NOT have to stay there. Break out of the program, belief systems, lies you live by only half awake. Bring the vitality back to your body heart and mind. Develop the speech that transforms, by being the truth. Being the sound of light. The Being beyond even God. The essence of dharma is fearless, clear and direct activity. Not bound by blood but by the light of the vows we’ve made since the beginning of time. Remember yourself. Get out of your rut. It’s about forming the community of life. Coming to life. You’re not living until you do. Time is running out. You always have a choice. If you want to be worldly and pretend you’re not, that’s up to you. Like I said, she isn’t black. You are. Sound makes light. Vibration doesn’t lie. Everything we do, say, listen to, think…it creates our sound body in the image of what that frequency generates. It’s a formula that has no loopholes. Your potential is beyond samsaric delusion. Remember your essence and align with it’s requirements. Then, only then will you shine who you are. The Mother Light of pure unconquerable love. Sharada Devi




I haven’t had much to say. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve been alone. I boil herbs, I stare at all my twisting shadows on the wall. Waiting for someone to make their last move. No one does. It’s a game, a conjuring of another dimension. No one wins this way. Sometimes a hole opens and I see, through this reality. Into a world that knows me, differently. With other faces, familiar voices. Memories of the ones I’ve held. Near to me, inside of me. All alone. I have nothing but my laser eyes and this useless wall of shadow- where all my secrets watch me “trying” -twisting into nothing but noise…that’s how this all started. Bhagavan Das went on a two week meditation retreat and when he left he said, “Pretend I’m dead.” He was serious. And so I did. Things didn’t go well at first, then I heard one of his songs…listening as if he were dead-bad idea. Bad, unbearable idea- holding onto this fantasy of fate. He’s going to die. Me too. Who first? Where will I take it? Memory hell perhaps? How will I move beyond this torture of the clinging needy pain seeking shadow, twisting perpetually into me-without any purpose that moves from the suffocating walls that enclose me? Mostly, I am not unaware, thank the god’s that war and sing within me… this is an issue of sentimentality, how to come to terms with attachment. Awareness and equanimity. That’s what he came back saying and I knew. I’ve been saying all week, for more reasons than one. It’s a physical thing. Precision is human perfection, not the other way around. People mostly don’t understand what this transformation is all about. They want to come around, profess all kinds of loves, devote their lives entirely to the cause. The cause of becoming the one who is one. But in no time at all the underlying sabotaging unconscious motivation is revealed that really they just want to either- be me, be BD, have an orgy, be granted power- that’s it. And it’s quite tragic, yet the facts remain. Self sabotage is always present until the presence is present instead. The Being. I ask, could I be that Being? The gods are smaller than your potential. They live, love, war inside the Being. The Being. Human being- being of light. The mother who cares beyond her own body, Mother Light is the Being. Neither male or female, neither religion or philosophy, beyond our choices of who God is, beyond beliefs of their being a choice that fragments that being- whether we call this the great vessel of light- Avalokateshvara, God, Neem Karoli Baba-whoever- it’s all the same essence. We play with the gods inside, circulate their essential elemental proclivities- and churn these forces for and against each other until we reach the peace that surpasses all conflict. Until we become the Being. Human body, being of light.
The true living Mother, beyond man or woman. Guru, God, Creator. The one and only reachable relief from the striving within the realm of choices, mistakes, decisions, alliances- it’s just how it becomes- what it ultimately is, is that we, above and beyond it all. Are this Being. And no name is needed. However, we chant the names given by the embodied who have received the divine code- to encode our sound stream in alignment with the way the energy flows- the energy of sound- the current that begins and ends the war. The sexual equation of enlightenment. Kundalini shakti, the rainbow ribboned serpent, the victorious one rides into true Being, this godhood, the one creative two headed serpent that rides only one wave, the Mother Light wave of sound body, Being God, the one that won the war of all wars, the merging of dusk and dawn. This is the way it is. It’s a physical thing and it absolutely can and will be accomplished. ALL steps, meaning every thought and word; every dim lit action, lead to Her. All phenomena is made of the warring gods, it’s only a matter of clarity and precision- how well we understand the game and why we’re here to ride the snake of man into the rainbow of the serpent Being- We call it the one true God, but it’s the other way. The One true God, bows to the Being who understood the wrath and did something peaceful in a state of violence. It’s called self liberation, very simple once the absolute decision has been made. We continue and we never look back or even sideways, only forward at the flame of the Eye, Her Eye that watches and mimics, Her Eye that is the sight the Being sees through to beyond space and time. This is the Bodhisattva I am describing. It will not happen overnight, over time. It only happens in the gap, and I can tell you why and how. Because She cares, and that’s all you need to know. The matter is what you actually do, what attachments you let Her rip from you, determine the new self you create. You don’t allow the new space, you get nothing. No Being, only the same face of the lesser you. I cannot surrender to the lesser in anybody or any pursuit. I do my best to create this everywhere I look, her most sublime and perfected form. It’s about vision and potential. Individual uniqueness becoming the personality’s specified dharma. And we do this, against all seeming odds. We start that fire. We’re doing it here now, everyday….I will help anybody that helps themselves. I will do anything for you in the name of the great white snake. I will move anything for Her cause by pulling it toward me or pushing it away from me. Magnetism is the power created by the perfection of friction. It goes both ways. Let’s rub ourselves raw in the sound of the name. True essence, our Being. God embodied as sound. Let’s not get confused by echoes or afraid of deep rumbling. To adjust to the discomfort of transformation, to embody awareness and equanimity- just remember my only message written in a million ways- MORE PAIN MORE GAIN. Rub, rub, RUB your duality together. Tapas burns the disease of smallness away until you rest in the cool flames, aware of one. Untouched and humming the Being of Her light into the disappearance of perfect union for the benefit of all sentient beings. As sound we enter and depart. That is the path. The resonance of Being in between.

Sharada Devi


how it feels to be seen


When everything around me starts changing and I can’t hold onto any thing, when there is no direct connection to anything but uncertainty. This undercurrent of a grasping anxiety. To hold something in place, preserve what has been, when I can’t hold on and I can’t let go. I sense the dread and promise of the inevitable. What always comes no matter how well I organize, the chaos of transitions. Mostly for me it’s just a deep grief that’s really ungrounded in any reality but emotionalism and memory. It’s an empty feeling of the long meaningless sequence of events leading to this moment. This felt meaningful. The sadness in his eyes that he couldn’t change anything now, because it is too late. We know and pretend we don’t- out of a sort of unspoken kindness to each other. But it doesn’t mean that the haunting isn’t happening, the inner loss isn’t becoming bigger with every sigh. The fear isn’t growing even larger than the so called love that has held these things together for so long. Held us together. Given a merciful purpose to the days and years that have passed. But nothing, I am left with nothing but a perplexing confusion- that although we know what this is, we still can’t figure it out. What we’re a part of, if we’ve done something wrong, if there was anything we could have done better, more solid. More withstanding the test of transitions. But I couldn’t and I tried. I couldn’t stop the way time reveals the pain no matter how well I hide it, remedy it, define it. I couldn’t take away certain things from others although I tried and would have. I have had to watch the pain set in, the structural changes it causes, the dim realization that these demons we forget don’t forget us. And the harsh fact that, sometimes, at least for now, it IS just too late. And you can get as mad as you want for what I write, you can be ugly and judgmental of me. I didn’t do that to you. You don’t know me. The picture is much bigger than the way you interpret anything I say. Even personal isn’t personal. It is only a finger pointing inside. You know the places we’ve gone. Don’t act like it’s only my mother. I have watched those I have known fade into oblivion because of avoiding inevitable transitions, which is impossible though we try. Of course we try, it’s necessary because we are primal in that way. To survive the coming of destruction, to hold onto any security even if it oppresses us. But the way it goes is that this life is very sad when we’re honest with ourselves and not desperately clinging to new age philosophies or religions that seem to solve the fear of death and loss. Sad because we’ve seen and held the only love we’ve known, no matter how feeble. In another. No matter how they’ve betrayed us or made us feel small. We have had nothing but these little ways to feel a God we can actually only imagine. Which is also scary. Not knowing, no concrete evidence, proof of our immortal souls that will blissfully depart the density of the body and soar into the light beyond all human suffering. I am considering that it’s not that easy. That there is a lot of growing up to do. A lot of personal responsibilities toward that process that we mostly just won’t own. But why, being shrouded in this world of veils that conceal the destination. Wouldn’t you like to know. Why, when, how? This goes. And what can I do. And that’s what I ponder relentlessly. While I listen to time- and I will not smash the clock. Pretend I am beyond it’s threat. I am inside the threat of time, and this is why I fear the timeless where transitions aren’t even possible. There isn’t the gap to distinguish the difference. So this I guess is about the lesson of this human life. The serious dilemma we face. That we actually must be. But only for awhile. That we seek the love we feel within in another but then we must let go. That all will be ripped from us and we are helpless to stop it. That we aren’t paying attention to the warnings that time stands still for no one. That he has been the ancient tree and I am merely a bird on his branches making noise. That I have nothing but feelings moving through me. That- and a mind that tries to control the flow of overwhelming emotion by writing. Defining the moments of time that pierce my soul. That I have always felt I can’t go on in this acute graphic agony of the impending conclusion, and somehow I do. And I have become resourceful, efficient and ruthless. Pulling roots looking for why. And so if you consider the situation of transition and the beliefs that seem to hold both the fear and security intact. You will see it’s all a panic of fabrication with little regard for the actual reality which is -beliefs are like houses. Somebody made them, built them for us to live and sleep in. They aren’t anything but man’s need to solace the fear of intruders and create a container for this warm isolation. Human frailty. The beliefs that circulate our existence as it stands, must be destroyed for us to know where we are in this asylum of noisy thoughts that always come back for more noisy proof. Punishment and retribution for our sins. But why are we guilty. Of what? We seem to be the prisoners of some other beings…

But I can’t believe anything I was trained to think I can only attempt to know the space of right now, as I feel it and move into the moments of my forgotten fears. Transitions and how the body talks inside. If I don’t know me. Nobody will. If I don’t feel me. Nobody can. It’s simple- so simple we dread eye contact. Because the thing inside us, call it a soul or whatever you want. Knows what we hide from. Ourselves- out there. Everywhere- we move away from the way. The way is not definable. It’s too easy. It’s impossible. And so I feel this and can’t understand how to die to dying. And with joy. Is the catch. Crazy simple impossible unattainable. Just to be me? Just to be sad and terrified to let go- and let go anyway. Just to say goodbye without knowing when. Just to be ok with never seeing his face again…just to be the pain of being without trying to stop the torture of the ripping. I feel I would have to be psychotic to be this liberated. That I would have to be a lunatic to be enlightened. So whatever any of it means, I just keep sitting lonely- and feeling what I would rather not face. True love and how it feels to be seen.
Sharada Devi


and then this crow came


I sit in this room all alone looking out. At trees and rain. At emptiness. I would rather not see myself this way. As the winter approaches. As cold sets in. As things get buried even deeper underneath whatever has fallen. When I wasn’t watching. What I lost on the bottom that will soon go unseen. For a long time. It already has. Winters have passed. It never seems the same. Year after year, seasons blend into nothing. Nothing but endless cycles of pain and compensation. Of death and hopeless new beginnings. I sit here alone. People mean nothing to me. I can’t shake the haze of my dying. Which is all this has ever been. A slow, from beginning to end. Watching myself dying. Fruitless and broken. Like the branch that dangles and sways in the wind. Rain on the body of Christ. Whose looking anyway, but the memories of what we hoped we’d uncover. Like the sky hiding God. Or the heart holding love. But none of it matters, it’s all just a cloud relieving itself of dense weather weight. It’s not a poem or even a story. It’s just how things fall, for no reason at all. Back to death because there’s nowhere else to go but there. Nothing to do but remember. Fate. How I got here, sitting with no desire at all to get up. To matter to you. To do anything holy or prosperous. No. I’m just waiting. To fall like everything does, must. Rise. I could play music but why would I bother, continue with the lie, denial. The clock ticks from the wall, overhead and I listen, loud and clear. Every tick another death. Every tock a pointless beginning. The truth of me is that I am not free. I am a product that simply thinks too much and it’s a cruel torture. Whoever made a mistake like me. Whoever put her brain in place. Must know the suffering I could cause by dwelling with infinity as my number. Must have known I’d fuck up every head I could. Could we wake up, could the sun talk. Could we make a stand for any reason at all. Not to be here, useless pitiful space wasters eating money and shitting out tears that stench like dead bodies. The ones we’ve eaten ages ago. And we imagine the sin could be remedied by donating old clothes or opening doors for old people already on their way out. By inculcating our children into this sodomy. By sharpening our teeth while we sleep all the while. Well, I won’t be in this. I just won’t. So goodbye and good luck with your family and career. With your graceful aging and your stifled rage. With your eating disorder and your child you’re turning into your mother. With it all. The man who doesn’t love you. The woman whose so weak she wears makeup. The old forgotten bones of the dead dog. Well I didn’t forget. And I’m not going anywhere but down. Like the sun when it’s over. Whispering everywhere that although tomorrow comes it doesn’t matter at all stupid fucking human people. Wake up. You bore me to death. No one is saved either that’s a fantasy lie. You only rise when you die because that’s what steam does. The rest goes into the dirt, dog bones that mean absolutely nothing. But the seed doesn’t rot. The seed grows more evil and rises again in the steam of the earth’s desire to penetrate. Penetrate. And so he does and she gets knocked up. And the wicked child is born causing trouble. Because nobody is looking at what we did to get here. Why. Why are we fruitlessly fucking each other to death? Why won’t you stop hurting the child by being you?
You. Mother. You. And I mean everything. This planet. Universe. Collapsing fuck point in space.
Everybody, just a bad version of me. Worse. And so why would I bother mentioning flowers or friends or tombstones that read, “rest in peace.”
As if that were possible. The lies are more boundless than God. The beliefs are the devil that keep us all serving the pain of more pain. And of course the useless, endless dying. The trees with no fruit. The rain with no eyes. The earth with no heart. The sun with no warmth. My voice with no sound. Words without meaning. The seed without a worthy womb is my sorrow.
So goodbye as best I can is what I’m doing now…and then this crow came and perched on the broken branch, sideways and just stared at me through the window. There was nothing left to say. Or do.

You. Mother. You. Sharada Devi


bareback and riding a man with black horns


Going nowhere. You look right through me. I hugged him with both legs. Death was breathing. Don’t say goodbye. Don’t do this to me, pretend it isn’t happening. Smile. Eyes that see, speak to me. The silence taking words of gray, into this embrace. Death sucked my heart and the wild blood rose. Inhale, my neck to his teeth. A hungry bite. Fangs. Don’t let go. But you look through me, body like a board. Stiff and smoky. This mad world, you want my stories. I have nothing left to give but a warning. Turn back before it’s too late. Blood dripping onto my cold feet. But it’s him, my alibi. The constant dull hurt of being nobody. Going nowhere. Deep in my body bag calling from the drain of yesterday. It was never warm, not even the summers. Black horned man, shoulders curling like smoke. Rising from your dark invisible head. Let me go, I can’t stay here. I never said goodbye. And my words go unnoticed as I watch out my window. For you coming back, through the howling child wind. The ghosts always want me, touching me in places unseen. For a child, this isn’t safety, it’s danger. Hot sexy danger. No man wants anything old. No woman wants any baby who doesn’t lust for her breasts. I was there, I know what animals are. This is nowhere and God wants in. To me. So I sit alone here, now in the shadows. Tears for an empty world that never gets held. The window, only a memory. My mother dog dead. My virginity numbed. He was the only light I knew, don’t you understand where the wind blows. How low I’ll go looking for an excuse to be real. I can’t think about now, it’s all just about then. Where I’ve gone to avoid this goodbye. I keep thinking I’ve found you, new. Someone else. Do you love me. I know you don’t, look right through. Me. This lonely window. Waiting for him while the ghosts howl through me, inside the loss of me. They say she’s just mysterious. I have filled her or am filled with secrets that cannot be understood. Incest that is more about legacy than rape. Mother dog devours the child dog. Father dog roams for more scent. Blood scent, legacy. Where the demons go feels like somewhere. Howling wolves. It’s this childhood dog that I held, while she licked me to death. While my room sparkles with horny ghosts. While naked thoughts raced through a head much too small. Take back the confusion. My dolls want inside. Another taker, my lonely record plays, “pop goes the weasel.” Because I do know what that means. And these legs bound with chains drag down the hallway. For me, always for me. She’s getting thin. Put something inside her. And so I remember the opal he gave me. Inside of a small golden heart. My mother told me it was filled with fire. So I wore it, he loved me. When he was drunk he said so. And she left me, mounted me. Undressed me with her eyes. Children. Soft scared child. I am unalone. Ghosts fill her eyes, demons go down on her while I watch. Orgasm of sin. The police never came. I was the best and the brightest of the moonflowers. I had honey colored hair and my eyes were big like an unopened sky. Virgin. The wrath of not having enough love to give. So I’ll destroy these voices. Hand held devices. People I never loved. That wanted me like breath. Death breathes while I groan beneath him crying, “make me the one. ” Take me, the one. Child burning in heat. Fever blooded. Every night they come to my window. First the owl, then all the rest. Wanting in. “I’m not a whore!” I screamed into my nightmare. I didn’t know what it meant, I just knew what I was. Suppose to give everyone. A bit of my soul, warmed by an unearthly desire. Bad nasty things in dark places. My parents fucked in front of me so I knew. What it is, what it takes. What I’m not. Pure. Virgin. You threw me away anyway. Left me vomiting on the curb. I wore rainbow socks and had no idea about penis envy. Or what rainbows really mean. Or why the man in the car was stroking the lump or why my mother said, “Go put a shirt on.” Or why I woke up in bed next to the man with black horns. How he knew my name when nobody else did. Why he didn’t look right through me, but from in me. He saw. “I know who you are. Stop hiding.” He said. “In a child’s body or another man’s eyes. Stop pretending I’m not here recording everything you do.” I had an idea, I knew sex was the goal. Definitely knew where the wind blows once he gets his voice in my head. “Little red girl. Everyone is coming this time. Hold still.” And when you’re dead, you’re done with this goddess. And so during this time, even now. I live amongst the dead. Voices that smother me in spirals of smoke. Wrapping their bodies inside and around me, getting fed by what I do. Which is exude. Exude, the blue light where shadows can finally live as rainbows. Stuffed animals can talk, mothers can die and forget I’m their sex slave. Fathers can kill someone else’s little dog and death can have me. Over and over again. Anytime, anywhere. Going nowhere. He looks right through me. Shining vacuous eyes that hold and contain me. I am not here. The wind is an orgasm of fear touching the tip of his erection. And I am ready, I am always ready to stop taking and open the portal to sin. Alive as I am in this diabolical illusion. I am the bringer of the answer to why. Why. Because you want it. That’s why. Because I am a big, hard rainbow. And everyone is hungry for the child who is love. I’m not sure why I tell you these things. It’s because of the window. Where you watch me, undressing the little, soft whore. And where innocence bleeds all over the sheets. Where the song never stops, not even now, “pop goes the weasel.” It scared my brother, the way I gyrated to the music as if I had no fear at all. Of what it would take to get him through that window and into my bed. I may have been little, but I wasn’t small. I am a survivor of fate. And it’s not against women or feminine swooning. It’s just that it’s the best trap of all. This animal box. This divine beauty I describe. The virgin bled for life itself, for the gods to give back what they took. So I trapped them and sucked them all, one by one into me. No one can resist a heavenly child. Bareback and riding a man with black horns. Sharada Devi

On a moonbed of dark things


I sat next to you, I had come a long way just be near you. You shimmered with deep and dark things. Secrets you have never told. There is danger, being near you. Danger of slipping into you. Disappearing like everyone else did. But I came anyway and sat down beside you. You were a quiet rage, holding ages of pain. A pain that felt like ice, an ice much colder than death. And by pain I mean aching. An aching so low and so deep it takes special ears to hear. A porous body to body, the inner skin of the earth. I wanted you. To be you, taken without a trace. Slowly peeled from my own face and lost inside of yours. Your eyes. I could drown. “let go of everything.” you said. “if only I could do that water mirror.” I thought. I thought you heard me. The dream is in my head, the pain fills my heart with a burning cold. Unforeseen. I knew you, I really did. I am a hologram within you who is bigger than even what I can become. Taking over my mind, a rapture of sharp needles inside. I won’t let go, not of you. Whoever you are. I am here, covered in pins, sitting near you. Waiting for more. And I feel the slow movement of you inside this. Blood drops are real. Into you, nothing is seen without sacrifice. Whatever this is, I want it. Nothing else. Where could I go after you? Seeing you. Finally. Arriving. Red moon over midnight. At the place you seem to never leave and that I have barely found. To know you inside. Not sit beside. Get inside. This is my body slipping away into your swarm of dark water. I could be less than nothing if I could be you. I see. Something else. Rising inside me. Another you, another one, another time. Beneath her sorrow. So the churning of two invisible eyes. And the searching, “what are you searching for, in me?” You silently said. “myself, my ugly things I won’t see. You make them prettier. Deadlier. More permanent than even myself.” “I am. Is all.” The most divine. Who spoke from out of a pool of black. My voice, your throat. I am bottomless, not even death reaches me as far as I go. Down. So far down, we feel what we find, never having the words to say for sure who we are. The noises, how far back do they go? Underwater echoes, haunting whale cries. For each other and we can never find. Each other. Down here. “Do you know where you are?” You asked me. “I’m with you.” I said. “Me?” You whispered and as I watched whatever it is that you are, I grew cold on the outside and hot on the inside. “I can’t wait anymore.” “Wait for what?” “To get in you.” Then you started laughing in ripples and I felt the moon begin to die. Growing black again. Into him disappearing. Into the water. How do I know? I was there, feeling you. Moving. Underneath the crescent horns of cruel love. Then you laid down floating as I sunk into someone. Is it you, a you I could know? I get a very creepy feeling you aren’t anybody. And I want you like I want a ghost to possess me and do demonic things so I can feel vivid and full. Again, not taking over, taken over. And it won’t be my fault, because I love you. And you’re anybody I want, a fantasy. A deep dark god or goddess. A prisoner. My master. A teardrop. A bloody knife. A filthy hole. A God eye. I will be the one. Who goes with you, not even as me. As us, disturbed by the brightness of daylight. Into the pools brought by night, after she dies and admits to herself where she’s gone. Looking for love, is it called even love. Looking for bodies that match her version, my vision of what might be at the bottom of this, if only we could get there, lay there. On a moonbed of dark things, with each other, inside no other. Forget me, own me, consume me. Blow me up. Never know me, down here. I am just a feeling without a face or anything. Inside your head, draining your heart. If we had these things, if the dead didn’t know. Bodies themselves make good excuses to die. And so we went a long way. All the way to the moon. If we could we would. That’s why I call it love even though it feels evil and I know I’m demented to say it’s the truth. That is the place she sits waiting to go wherever he wants if he lets her destroy him first. Because it’s what this is. A love like God. A perversion that isn’t even a word. A religion that can’t be made, only entered at your own risk. Of annihilation. Consummation of a secret too forbidden to see with human eyes. Too bright to see without first being killed. Killed by the one who waits inside. Destroyer of colors. And I can’t even breath until then. Where is the light, was it ever? Won’t you say why you’ve done this. Made me wait so long…in this place where nobody goes. Nobody can. But me. Dark lover, pool of black. Anybody can know God. I want God’s silver soul.  And I’ll be here. As the drowning dark water for him. And I mean God. That’s how I feel it, undercurrent for you. The Eye. Down there. Void of me. A gasp into God. Sharada Devi