half lit world

She looks so real when she walks by, so vivid and immaculate -the warm body on the screen, close enough to touch, to be touched by…these images- pornographic fantasies -a waste of our lives…

“I will never be abandoned, now that I’m in charge of her”

Right. Nobody listens. She’s trickier than you. She spins you and you’re too dizzy to see her real face…it’s the mindfuck I already mentioned.

You’re wrong -and you don’t believe me- you think this doesn’t apply to you. It applies to us all- us- the great wasters of time and space-

Don’t be fooled. She is a story that never comes true. Maybe you think you bought the whore or that you aren’t one. You probably think you’re in charge of the screen you choose- mind, computer or otherwise- the realm of the modern whore and how she gets inside your pants- it’s not the other way around- you are the meat.

You are being exploited and undermined by the company you keep and even if you pay and feel in charge, you’re the losing whore -because you didn’t even think of it, she did. She’s in control, not you. She beckoned to you to enter the screen of cold lust and money hungry humping. Don’t get in my way, I don’t work for her anymore.

I kept saying, “No, it’s not good, it’s not right- it’s all in your head. You want a goddess? And she’s pretty and compliant and seductive and obliging?”

-And- don’t think this is written to men- I’m not a man hater. Men aren’t the problem. I love men. Everyone is the problem- ok? Besides, women are usually even worse because they really can’t admit anything to themselves how they hustle and exploit their lives and bodies – usually telling themselves it’s a “sacrifice” for the child involved or whatever- well, sorry the truth hurts -and you know who you are. I’ve said it dozens of times.
It’s not able to be deodorized, it stinks. His breath -while his hungry mouth sucks out your soul -because you don’t even love him, you just want a nice house and material security. I’m sorry you’ve resigned to be his prisoner-but it’s still whorehood at its finest- not selfless motherhood.

This world will screw you laughing as you spew your life all over her digital face. It wasn’t ever me. I didn’t choose this, but it still happens. The relationship we have or choose or keep-

The whore or the hustled.

We switch sides of course but it’s always the same, a gamble and an escapade. We’re losing something, that’s for sure. The game. The love. The point really.

And so we’ve pushed it all away, whatever and whoever reminds us of the slut we’ve become. You don’t think so? I could make a list of how it’s true not only for you but for myself too. And I’m working my way out of her snake pit and it’s tough. They wrap around us and they hold on-hissing in endless lullabies to keep us entangled and squirming in their half lit world. We were born from a snake and she’s not the beginning…

You know, the one we call mom, is a reptile just like us.

We have the memory of flight but can’t grow our wings back when we identify with our serpent mother. We must remember who came before this. Struggling does no good, we are captives in her playpen. Only by breaking our heart open will the past reveal itself to you.

The past. Before this torture began. Where we come from, what we can really do. Wasting ourselves buying and being bought- being the whore who fondles dangerous snakes isn’t the truth, it’s the nipple, the pacifier and the great distraction.

Mother’s next warm egg is in your heart. What are you capable of I wonder? Because she knows what you want really. Whether you like it or not, she’s the one who hatches and breaks open the shell and she’s the one who trips us and deceives us and lands us in prison. She’s doing it all, and it all depends on you and what you really want. Because mother knows best and she knows when you’re lying. You may not know you’re a liar -but she knows -and that’s really what the problem is between us isn’t it?

My love struck the deep aching. My love lowered it’s string and caught food on the hook. You are food and so am I. Everything is food and that’s it.

I can barely eat. The Doctor, Bhagavan Das- everyone force feeding me, counting calories, it’s awful and I had not eaten in two months until about 3 weeks ago- no food. No water- 2 ice chips per hour. And then they took me off the tubes and started the calorie police on me- and it’s hell, because I’m just not hungry but I know I have to do it- Bhagavan Das says I’m just floating and I’m not in my body at all – so my daily life since then has been obsession with food- I’m working very hard at this and it’s so strange-constant forcing myself every hour- eat eat eat- because the Dr. is weighing me in next week and I “better have gained some weight”

So you see its relative – but eating or not, food always wins and if I don’t eat- I’ll be food- if only for the final fire of me- and when I’m eating and fat- my life is food to my pursuits and desires…so it’s about eating.

Even sex is about eating the one that we aren’t. Getting the other side filled of its emptiness temporarily -and we feel that as lust and attraction. That’s basically what we’re currently capable of calling love (that- and this ego/pride ownership over our children as extensions of our own talents and perfection-usually unmet)

Love and creativity reduced and misinterpreted.

It’s all because of what I said, the whore and the hustled. No way out – we’re born this way-
so we can align, break out and fly again- but it’s a battle against a lot and doesn’t come easy- especially when denial seems to be the trend…

(the undermining claus being- the cat got out of the bag and is curious about the story the snake is telling…)

and these mystical wings we all need to remember ourselves with -well, the cat eats the bird…and it’s a losing love affair for everyone fucking in it…

So until then, She offers us food and She offers us up as food.

Or into the ground of pine needles and memories we go, screwing until the end of me…

Sharada Devi

p.s. read between the lines. it’s deeper than my words. hiding places and discovery. only the lonely will ever listen. silence, blind body. love unshackled and bled dry. do you have any idea of these sounds we make? quiet. tell me what you know.

what spins inside these words i cast

We make our fate like a widow builds steam deep in the cauldron of our own secret spell. The spell we cast upon ourselves to be born under- feeling only half of who we need to be. He isn’t here. She left me. I’m all alone now, confusing chaos with the magic I’ve made. Unknowing. I made the place I find myself. Somehow seeking a marriage from so many different places. It doesn’t need to be a man or a woman- maybe it’s my art, my job….but it’s an empty widow always in the end, looking for the sunrise she lost. That’s the abandonment we are facing. That’s why the tears fall. We can’t control the season. And you know I’m only a messenger and
my words only matter if you let them. This is your illusion being tainted or illuminated by mine- depending on how you see what spins inside these words I cast.

This sort of darkness lurks in us all. The undiscovered territory of our own self abandonment. I do not claim to be teaching you anything. The last thing I want is a role to deliver me straight into my own demise. I’m smarter than that, and I hope you will be too. Of course, we can’t forget self deception herself, who brings us the menu that we order our secret desires from -denying they will do us any harm as long as we disguise them like you would any bad tasting meat with some sort of distracting sauce…so that you forget what you’re eating.

Anyway, it’s no small terrain. I can be insane. I can be crazy. I can be wrong. It doesn’t matter, I’m still going to say it because I’m a messenger
and I always have been. I deliver and it’s usually what no one wants to hear. It’s a light in the darkness and we don’t want to go there, do we?

But that’s a stupid question, because you think you do. Actually you think you already went there and now you’re back…because you did drugs or were beaten or whatever….those were symptoms, signs pointing to the places, those were not the places. Maybe you don’t see me in the shadow you carry, but I found you and I’m just saying, it’s what I do and it’s no lofty position. It’s trash talk and I’m covered in filth from head to toe. I carry too much information and that’s one reason for my physical issues. I’ve never been sick, I’ve just needed to be cut up and put back together again. It seems the knife does wonders in situation of astral infestations which is what I get. And I’m not blaming the world, it’s my fate and I know judgement day draws near for us all.

I’ve got nothing covered. It’s only just unraveling and it seems my purpose is thwarted as there are no true believers who don’t attack me literally upon command. So many declaration and it’s just one push of the button and out comes the attack dog with all sorts of reasons that I’m wrong, reasons with new age holes all over them, I won’t engage it for very long because I’ve already learned- 99% or more want power by association, they want an identity, who to be and who to emulate- but it’s always for the wrong reasons and it’s always further from finding their own actual truth. Because who you actually are is layered by the things you won’t look at. I’m no judge so no need to target me with your wrath. I’m only trying to help, really.

My life, and I know nobody wants to hear it or believes me really- but it’s been hard and painful and with one crisis or trial or death of some sort over and over again- with no breaks- and I’ve been expected to rise over and over- not only for myself but also for you- so I could be stronger – more compassionate, more clear. I’m always weary in so many ways-and never know if I’ll make it around the next corner -but I try- in all my pitiful weakness -and I get up and start again- somehow better from the worst of all curses- a better servant of this all elusive, yet all pervading -ferocious and enduring love. Like lightening, we never know where she’ll strike next. So get ready…

And I’m not saying love comes like you think it should. I “called you a name” poor baby.
If you respected me even a little bit, you would stop being defensiveness and be open to the idea that maybe it wasn’t a name, maybe it was a clarification on why you’re suffering. You see, I’m never angry when I talk or write to you, I’m just delivering. If it sounds harsh, try seeing it differently. You don’t have to hear me or believe me. You can dislike me or think that I’m delusional -thinking that I’m “some chosen vessel” but I don’t. But I do deliver messages and you should listen because it could help you if you had the courage and devotion to know yourself completely.

*Also, remember, you don’t even need to read this blog and your problem of me is solved. No need to convince me to alter my ways of approach-and you could even start a blog- it isn’t difficult. What I’m saying is, no need to struggle with my reality if it’s disturbing to your reality in a way that doesn’t improve your conditions- because-

The question really is, where do we go from here? Shouldn’t we move forward instead of side to side-shadow dancing with our pain and then getting defensive, self righteous or combative with me? Of course, it it were easy to do these things the world would be a much nicer place- suffering abounds more than ever. Call what you do or what you support or how you participate love- if you want- but you’re still in the same place- the same losing game- and it’s not changing anytime soon- because it’s the same road that only goes to the same destination -more suffering, more abject denial.

There aren’t a lot of real heroes. You should be a hero. Face yourself. Stop being a liar and a hypocrite. Or -someone who knows it all already.
What’s worse? It’s all a treacherous and self rejecting mind fuck. No matter how pretty she is.

She always lived alone behind the village, at the end of a narrow dirt road near the mouth of the river. Nobody hardly ever saw her and very few knew where to find her. She lived in what looked like a hole in the side of a rock. It was dark and dirty and you could pass right by and never notice it at all. The entrance was covered by trees hanging branches…and the river ran only a few feet away from the entrance. But if you were given directions and you paid close attention you would find the small hole and duck down low and enter and as you rose into her little dwelling, you would be dazzled by oil lamps, incantations and her flaming wild eyes…

She is the widow who brought you into this world and she is the one who will take you out. She watches you and she takes your toys away. She does everything for you and she expects nothing…

Without devotion we are void of light.
Get to know her and who she’s calling as she stirs the cauldron that brings you life. It’s your name she’s calling throughout the night. You’re hooked on her and it’s no use to struggle. Get involved with what she intends for you. Stop wasting precious time resisting. Look inside the the dark and boiling bubbles of this fermenting illusion and see what could become of all your suffering and resources. Why waste the holy material that she so freely gives?

This is the alchemy of our human birth and we really can take this all the way. We really can eat what she’s cooking and become immortal.

Then, inside of you,

beyond time and space she merges with him as the sun rises and the moon erases herself into his eternal and silent light.

believe me, she knows you
and it wasn’t all for nothing.
Sharada Devi

a spark of something genuine

Please stop sending me personal emails.
You can all post on the blog when relevant.
Your personal problems are not my business. Stop being so self centered.
I offer Skype sessions and there is a fee.
There should be far more respect given to my time and efforts. It’s really awful this thing you all call love. It’s not love at all. It’s selfishness and mass delusion. Way beyond my imagination. I can find no inspiration in such a heap of narcissism and ego masturbation. You think you are so special that you can disrespect my boundaries so that you can take as much as possible? It’s not enough that I write the blog free of charge? I’m not looking for a career or friends or fans. You think we’re friends and you’re beyond posting on the blog? Instead you write me emails about yourself and your problems while I’m trying to heal from being in the hospital for nearly a month? Do you have any idea how much pain I’m in? Can’t you stop thinking about yourself ever? You ask me how can you help? You tell me you love me?
Really? And you believe that?
What have you done to show me any love or even common decency? Some of you are downright obnoxious. So arrogant and with such inflated ideas about yourselves. I don’t have the time, energy or desire to even begin to help you.
And I said it over and over. You stay where you are. You fantasize. You just do your thing ok?

So I write the blog and my expectations are very low as far as truly helping anyone. I’ve seen it all.
You don’t want to help me. It’s an absolute lie.
All of you – I get so many emails every day- and most of these people read the blog and then send personal emails- probably because they need to feel “special” to me- but you’re not. Honestly, to me you’re just another deluded ego maniac that will never listen. So I stop wasting time and I just “be nice” but it seems whatever I do is a waste of time. Bhagavan Das brought me flowers every day in the hospital. He was so disgusted and upset that you all email and send cyber flowers and letters saying “what can I do. I love you so much Sharada Devi” and he was so shocked that not one of you sent a card of any flowers to the hospital. I didn’t care because like I said, I don’t expect much. Sadly, he’s still hopeful one sincere person will come along one day. But they never do.
All I need to do is be honest once and you’ll be out the door, believe me- you don’t want to know what I think about you and your situation and what you’re not doing and what a deluded mess you are in.
You don’t have to read the blog. I don’t care. It’s not like I’m supporting myself with it- considering hundreds of people read if daily and maybe I’ll receive a couple donations per month – a grand total of $20 or so…
and that’s not enough- you want more. You want therapy. You want to be special. Well being selfish isn’t special, it’s typical and it’s boring.

I just cannot believe this losing battle. Such a sad state of affairs. So grim. And if I’m not new age enough for you and if you are disappointed I won’t go into your make believe world where you throw the word love around like its candy. Seriously, love- it’s just a horrible word with no meaning left at all.

Action is everything. Action involving sacrifice.
We give and give and give when it’s hard, not easy. So stop telling me you love me and asking what you can do because it’s a lonely place to be…watching all your lies collapse around me.
There are a lot of you. I don’t care if you like me.

I would be happy if I could find one real person in this world besides Bhagavan Das who had even a spark of something genuine living in their hearts. Maybe one day, but I’m not going to hold my breath.

Sharada Devi

ice cave

just a spot upon the glass
high in the corner of this ice cave
nothing melts or gets soft at all
just a ticking, clinging to the ice
no air to breath just white smoke
a little hole has been drilled through this roof
here in the ice cave. still in the corner
upside down hanging
I turn nothing and nothing moves
bats rest on an island below me
and I watch them sinking into the
center of the circle I bore

I’ll never get around you. it’s too uncertain to tell anymore the time of year I hold onto.

High in my corner. ice on the floor. I’m not hiding.
it’s the last spot on earth and so I came to find her, here in the looking glass.
I never really got out. I had to stay after all and I also had surgery. Sometimes the knife is the only way. it’s inevitable and I’m grateful. It’s been painful and numbing. It’s been deep and vast. It’s been yet another awakening. The quickening between here and there. I know if I tell you how I really feel or what I think you will get scared. Probably find me fatalistic or immobilizing. Don’t let me put a stop to your ideals. We all have different ways of getting over ourselves. And some of us take the long road and some prefer the shorter road. Sometimes it’s hard to tell one from the other. But being here in this place for almost a month, this hospital -where time stands still and pain and sickness prevail – has only made me less of a coward. Because I speak or write the truth as I have been taught through my experiences doesn’t mean I’m depressed. I have grown beyond such triviality. My feelings are insignificant. I am just here and who knows why.
I have spent most of my life suffering and being taken down into places I don’t want to go. I can fight it or I can accept it. I took the vow lifetime after lifetime and I suppose there is a part of me that chooses to suffer so that I can awaken to reality as it is not as I would feel more comfortable for it to be. Who cares if you are comfortable? What about the rest of the world?
We are blinded by our own selfishness so much so that we can’t even take the first step toward recovery – which would mean, “I give my life and my safety and my fear to a greater power. I will see the reality of the mess I’m in and I will do whatever I can to end the pain- even if it means to become the pain, at least for a little while”

How will anyone know what we’re up against until we enter the heart of pain? It’s what this is  -The heart of pain. You won’t escape it because your heart isn’t separate and if I can’t eat, neither can you.

So I am tired and weary of the new age props-
often in the form of some deity who will save us from what we won’t face. Not yet anyway. But you’ll face it, you’ll always face your face and no deity has the power to stop that. It’s you who disguise the looker in order to avoid surgery- if you know what I mean. So I probably won’t ever tell you what you want to hear. Mostly I find everyone tepid and vastly insincere. Talk is cheap. Love. Devotion. Appreciation. Only words. It’s about sacrifice. Don’t hide behind me.

So the blog was offline because I’m over it. People making me into surrogate husbands and wives, fantasy girlfriends. Maybe it’s my fault but it’s not my intention to spin in wonderland waiting for a sun that will never rise. Nobody listens or ever moves forward. Everyone hears what they want to hear, myself included. What’s the point? So you can say, “oh you help me” but I’ll be the judge of that. And truthfully, after all these years, after all this time, I have done no good. I’m just a crutch or a commodity and I don’t appreciate it. So I don’t know. I put the blog back up today on the new moon and I really don’t feel like saying much. I’m still in the hospital and I’m leaving today. I’m just skin and bones. My words are just air. Listening takes skill and fearlessness. But without life experience, comprehension is weak and compassion is dry.

So if you won’t change, don’t let me stop you. We all go our own way and I understand. Thank you for opening my eyes.

God took it all away. No more eyes and no more mouth. Who are you now?

Sharada Devi