Scorpion breathing

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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

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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.

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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

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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.”

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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

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

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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 motherlight108@gmail.com

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

I kiss the dead lips of my lord

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No man can hold me down or stop me in any sense of the word. No man can contain me. Autonomy is essential for women. Women who stay in the grace of a woman that is- and not become angry he/she versions of what they were, but empowered and integrated. Confident and eternally soft. That’s why I’m starting my own thing, an action long overdue. I’m one of those power behind the throne sort of people by nature avoiding the light flashed on me. Due to many past lives of religious persecution and torture, I’d prefer not to be known up front. And I get threats as well, from swarms of demons, they somehow have this fascination love/hate obsession with me. So because I won’t live in fear because fear is confining, I must do the fated thing…out of embracing the flowers of life- the voice of karma, dharma and cultural necessity- this instinctual knowing has pulled me out of my shell and it’s a whole new era, beginning now. Not because I’m a man hater, on the contrary, I appreciate men very much and in many ways prefer men over women. Women overall have become big talkers, hens, afraid in their kitchens, living through their children, living in denial….it’s true. But because women need to know that they can indeed stand on their own- I will at least set a better example in the deepest, and I do mean deepest sense of the word so that women can be liberated from the confining woman role playing, baby making, soft spoken, sex kitten prison. Women are not a possession or extension of a man. They are not servants or secretaries to their owners. But the reaction gets perverted and women lose their true power- then becoming uptight prudes, hating men, wearing man suits- none of that solves anything. This is a deep, like I said, retrieval of the essence of feminine grace, god given power and divinity. So I’m going to do my own thing and set a new and improved example. I’m going to be autonomous. And if that’s not enough at least I did the right thing. And if I am mostly correct that most people only tolerate me to get to Bhagavan Das- then fuck that. They’re all just starstruck, I’ve seen it. They dont even care about what he truly has to offer…they just want LSD glamour, or something equally as meaningless. At this point, he’s only still here mostly because of me anyway, so get that finally straight ok? He would have self destructed a decade ago. I am currently the foundation of it all. That’s just true. And so if you don’t get that and you think everything I am is because of my connection to him, that’s your loss and that’s the delusion that needs to go because everyone loses. Woman deserve more- like respect and appreciation for real. I’ll disappear if needed but I wont go on misrepresenting my cause. Being as women can be the most tedious, jealous, male chauvinists of all. A liberating change is the calling. Everything has its time and place and everything- everyone needs space to grow. I’m not attached to any result, not even to my efforts. I am well aware of my capacity and ability to empower. All women including men- should awaken to the female almighty that moves heaven and earth subtly and ruthlessly. And so I’m going to go insane with output very soon here…in reverence to her silent changing of tides…

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the cut, bare bone nothing, warm chest, wrap me in safety. I have nothing. I’m going to let go. I’m going to keep looking for you. This time I’m going to let go. Im going to look deep inside and remember where I’ve been. Im going to let go of my life and let you carry me to where you are. Waiting for me. The cut to the bone. Everyone wants something. A deeper wound than before. To feel, to touch and feel the sting of that love. A poison that finishes me, eclipses the known.
I tried to be safe, control the knife, the strike of the serpent. But I could not. Be separate from the one I am moving inside of. Who lifts me in waves of dark venom moon water and circles me under starlight that I’ve only imagined. I could pray or cry, “take me home.”  But there never was one, but this. I die into you. My home. What I’ve done, whoever I’ve been. I lay down beneath the law that doesn’t bend and I break. I break my heart open all over this earth and I empty myself into your emptiness. I give up myself, I never had anything. I let it drain into rock and embryo. You will never leave, I know that. The pierce through dead white eyes, the electrical passing. The current that carries my voice into you. You, the violent blissful peaceful ground. I cannot describe this vision. Holding still, laying down, headless, beyond fear, paralyzed by grief too cold to ever leave. Don’t ever leave, this truth that ignites a fire so blue I become the great burnless corpse. Nothing touches me. You touched my heart. Blue fire God. I cannot cry. I cannot feel. Not today while I must strike and destroy my fallen earth friend. Not today while I become the enemy to an ancient friend. Not today when I must cut and cause pain. Not now while the moon and sun consummate the death of 3,000 years of prayer. Not today when the face is no longer mine and I am no longer behind anybody. Open wound, I walk away, into the red sun. Not knowing anything but that I must go and find death myself before it’s too late.

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I love you the way Krishna loves the flute. I leave you the way the air leaves his lips. I hear you the way God enters her body. I will be the one who finds you everywhere. Where you didn’t look. I will see. My father in the filth of the blessed vessel. In the wrath of her screaming thighs. In the softness of her secret prayers. Bring him back through me. Me, I give me away. I lose myself in the fever of the fire’s blue smoke. I break stale hearts. Broken open. The danger of true love is that God sees through every eye. The deathbed is the fresh blue blood moon. The sacred vault of resurrection. I am not missing. I am gone. Only a trace remains, a red drop, after a surgical storm that cuts to the bone. I am sky lightening striking back at the ocean and clouds. Because I love you and she took you to a dream that isn’t his, It’s the moon who is a backdrop concealing the open door. Silver and deadly body box. Watch me destroy and be hung high on the cross. Watch me rise and become immortal. With no hiding place, not even a closet. Just a womb holding a child that is me. Always mine covered in thorns and starlight…and so fall, I crawl, I return to the grave of her grace. I let go of final last words and prayers for redemption or result. I give up the mediocre cross and the red tipped blade. I bow before the limp and the blind. I kiss the dead lips of my lord. Sharada Devi

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