HOURGLASS 8:8

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There was a woman with long white hair and there was a man that followed her. She lived in a dense forest of thicket and tall spindly trees. He buried himself in dead leaves just to hear her breathing, to be near her. He was very tall and he was dark. The shadows met his face and his eyes always gazed downward, at her footprints, at the leaves, at what she left behind upon the decaying earth. She was complicated because she was so simply a widow. She was slender and her back arched like the cats she lived with. Her eyes were often yellow like that and when she was weaving, the way she would, it seemed that silken thread came from the palms of her delicate veiny hands. She would leave white webs everywhere, in his eyes. Red diamonds shaped like the hourglass that sat behind it all, dripping it’s hearts out until the day nothing was left. The day or the hour nobody could know. But her, he was tempted by a death wish he could not resist. She was quiet, it was the cats who purred loudly. These were forest cats, wild and sleek. She was very old, we cannot know her age. At night she would sit beside the moon glowing. No one could be sure where she came from or why. But this man, he understood and although she pretended not to know that he followed her, she knew. And she fed him just like he was a cat. A kitten really, not wild like the cats that circled her feet, but domestic. He needed something. Spider-less eyes. She was all he saw. The days went by. The seasons passed. Her hair grew so long it touched the ground. His eyes were so heavy they burned holes in the earth anywhere she had stood, he gazed wherever she walked as he followed and a black trail of darkened leaves was formed. It was a wet forest and the flame was contained by the earth who was fertile. It was the groove where streams are formed. Streams that lead to rivers and rivers that swim desperately back to the ocean. But this realm wasn’t like our ocean. It was clean and clear and the fish had minds like men. And so evil began to form in the big waters and the woman knew. She knew the earth must meet the sun, in the same way the ocean meets the moon. She knew that the cats were willing to die, die for light. Die for the light I told you. He wanted her, he followed her. The fish were filled with his water. His water was filled with her. The flame had a mind. A central stomach that ached for it’s food. The earth. I have never eaten the sun although I’ve tried. The cats had been with her since the beginning, there were twelve and four were male. There were eight females who she called eight names. She slept in a cave hidden by a giant tree. The cats were inside her. He slept under a tree, beneath rotting leaves, buried in musk and deep longing. I suppose you don’t understand me. They both live inside is the main idea. Her hair is long and white, he wears a dark hood. She cannot exist without him, he does not exist without her. The world is ending. They will empty the blood of earth like a pool that gets drained. They will burn the last remaining path so that no trace remains. Either of possession or of regret. The trees form a spiraling circle in the dense wet forest made of webs that only the moon sees because the sun doesn’t care. The ocean isn’t far and another place will rise and it won’t be good it will be evil, worse than anything we’ve ever done. These fish breath light, not air. The ocean is black now because of it. Die for the light. Once it’s over, we won’t even notice. She lives here and works, weaving stories to hold creatures that need her and giving the cats a feline queen, herself who carves minds into intricate webs decorated with spiders who store memories and stop the night from collapsing. This is how it’s always worked here. And the reason he follows her is because he is how you might imagine a shadow. A loyal shadow that became a man. A man who grew warm beneath her and eyes were formed. Then the river inside him became charged with electricity and magnetism and he began creating fires. She was. She is the central sun. He is the quickening glance of fervor. They are the creators and destroyers of imagination and limitation. The cats are large and shiny and walk upon this earth as gods. Gods who eat fish. Gods who see the ocean as a puddle. Maybe we are smaller and bigger than we realize. Maybe there is no middle to anything. Maybe he will never leave her because she is his body. Maybe she is his body because he is her movement. I have become confused and jealous when I think about the quiet, damp and misty forest with traipsing cats that shimmer and beasts that are given a mind by a white haired woman weaving webs from her palms as a tall dark hooded man watches, hooded eyes starting fires whenever she moves, and only the path turns to black killing nothing but footprints that got in the way. I will leave nothing behind me but his devastation. The dream will eventually die. The dream will die for the light and when we wake up the sun will be gone and the moon will be a liar. We will trust no one inside the great incubation tube. There will be purring, loud purring, hissing and deep growling. There will be claws leaving blood on skin walls and it will be too late. Because she will be gone. There is not two chances to die is why, there is one. And the ocean wasn’t real anyway but we still were afraid of the hooks that were dangling. The swiping claws, the compassionate beings. Whoever and whenever is beyond us now. This is the death of not I, but my dream. I spent a lot of time sleeping waiting for her, crying for him, stroking cats. Thinking I might not be enough. All of me, nowhere and nothing. Running out of time. Excuses of weariness and hunger. And now the sky has opened over the oval world of imagined forest and I’ve been lifted into another mouth. A mouth without a language. Which is scary. Scary because I’m me and I let it happen like this. Didn’t self destruct on my own before the hourglass was drained. And so I say, remember today is it. All of it. Living and dying, seeking mouth tell me what to do. The big thing, the high thing, the right thing. The low deep way to the left of this world. Die to the light who sees and hears, the seen and the listening. The truth really is, the movement and decay never left this bed, the bed of my dead body. And I never slept either. Who are you? I wasn’t here, my hair was long and white eternity. Growing eternity, he was my tongue. Red body, black dream, white strands that never stop moving. Goodbye empty vessel. Downward spiraling screwdriver. Flames that burst like eggs from inside my own fertile mind. I said die for the light like I already knew who I was. And this story has no beginning or end but is the number 8. Hourglass 8:8

P.S. I know you’d rather have recipes and meditation tips. And that is what this is. Throughout history people have eaten blood soup. They’ve beaten themselves with whips to destroy their lust and they’ve eaten blood soup to destroy the lust of others. Men and women as humans and other species have always eaten, abandoned and rejected their children depending on circumstance and then the one little one is left to fend for themselves and how lucky you are to be given the chance to see what a twisted ray of light you’ve been exhumed from. This is my advice to myself and all, figure this mess out. Get it straight, there are no victims only participants. Meditation isn’t an act, it’s an approach. One recipe is the only recipe. Rip out your own heart to see how late it’s gotten. Stop feeding on children both within and without. Be aware of the awareness that is so primal we’re ashamed. Fuck the shame. And I mean literally. This is a joke, these planet reapers with their restaurants and outfits hung in windows on shapeless mannequins. Women with no hips and men with penises too big to fit in their pants. This is a joke- that edible food is to be bought and children are to be tamed. Turned into you and me, pale lumpy prisoners of war drinking coffee and watching phones as they talk to us. As we look for life on the screen and listen for which way to turn, hands trembling high on stimulants and sedatives. Minds confused by mainstream dictation. The way it is, is that there’s only the forest of webs and I am not the one who made this up. I can cook all day and still the blood gets shed and they’re dying from sexually transmitted disease and starvation for no reason but the evidence. For evidence. The clues we won’t see. Look from above down at this sinking world of electrical storms and poison waters. Do you really think you belong here looking through books on what to cook or how to meditate? Drones fill the sky head and anchors fill the aching heart. Home isn’t across the ocean or even where you are now. You don’t know these people you look at- “family, friends,” television- whoever- they’re masks. Masks meant to trap you in the web. The mythic creature is covered in a thousand legs. And although it seems invisible, this creature looms just outside your eyes, humming and hovering. We have a maker, they said it was called “God,” like we’re so stupid it needs a name so we can beg for forgiveness and help. Shame upon the human is the end of man. Our only home was never here anyway so they can have it- making us guilty for the dark waters and the diseases they’ve spread. So I’ve narrowed it all down in my own way in the above parable and I hope you recognize our kinship enough to get up and out of bed, away from the dining table and back into the diamond that’s waiting once you flip the lid off this demented wormhole sin pit of trickery and deception. Just so you can’t be you, but a slave to shame. Reading about holy people like they’re somewhere else but inside you. Like you couldn’t be good enough, ever to do these miraculous things. Like you’re caught and hopeless and waiting for her to get hungry and devour your body all over again in the dream of wasted space and dripping moments. It’s not real, any of it. Sing your way back to the song. Not any song you’ve ever heard here on this planet, but a deeper sound heard below the radar and the body grip, the low song that only heavy otherworldly animals know. And I mean 1,000 legged animal creatures that are made of light without fear noises. That spin over and under all concept and belief. That have no rules, only one law. The law that is itself beyond all fiction of form attached to direction. You can have no comment, you can have it all.

Sharada Devi

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4 thoughts on “HOURGLASS 8:8”

  1. Heart pounding. Dreamt of earthquakes last night. Four, to be exact. Long ones. I was camping with my man, and was awakened by that feeling of the earth shaking, and like a rug being slowly pulled out from under us. I looked out our camper window and saw daylight go up. It felt like quicksand. Later, I found myself in the chasm where the earth split. Everything told me I should be afraid. I was not. I did try to get out, but each time I did, I sank a little lower into the earth’s crevice. The dream was SO real, SO vivid. At 4am when I awakened, I actually had to check (online) to see if there was an earthquake. I used to study dreams, and there are varying explanations (Western vs. Eastern interpretations). Western interpretation states possible job or business loss (which I do not see happening since the animals adore me). Eastern interpretation indicates victory or news. For me, I think, reading the news about possible increases in weather catastrophies predicted along with living on top of the San Andreas and two other fault lines could be contributing factors. The interesting thing…during my dream, it was startling and a bit frightening, but also a bit exciting! I recall being in the chasm/crevice and thinking “I have a choice here…I could freak out and try like hell to get out (pointless because I was so far down), or I could be calm and know that there was really nothing to be done and to look at how incredible my life has been thus far.” I am not sure, in real life, if this would actually happen. SO….the earth will eat me up…without regret. It will just do what it does. But the question is, what will “I” do? I know that Change is the only thing that is reliable. Some changes I can make myself, some changes will just happen. How I choose to change and/or How I choose to live within the uncontrollable changes is KEY. My commitment is to always Pay Attention to my actions (thoughts and words, first), make sure I set achievable goals and make better progress and most of all learn how best to Express Myself. Not to worry about hurting someone’s feelings means I need to think with my heart, what, where, when and how best to communicate. I love your Red Diamond reference….I have always loved red diamonds…for they are SO rare and symbolize strength and confidence! The Red is MY color….flaming heat, root chakra…power house…solid base. Pitta burns…..Fire sign of Sag….fueled by my Gemini airy moon…..I feel like one of your Forest Cats…who eat the fish (who were filled with HIS water)(the water that was filled with HER!!). I made friends with a fish in a Chinese restaurant the other day. Needed some steamed veggies and white rice and tofu….the fish was with two others inside this big tank. I kind of fell in love with this fish. It looked like it had lips. It had the largest eyes. I spent some time looking at it through the glass. It looked at me. We totally connected! REALLY. While I sat eating….I kept looking over at the tank…that fish stayed facing me, looking at me almost the entire time I was there! REALLY! I talked to the Chinese lady and asked her if she named her fish….she did not…I told her I was in love with this one, and pointed it out. She giggled. I don’t think she thought I was serious. Or, perhaps, she did. I am that fish, in that tank. We all are.

    1. sounds like everything is moving and shaking!
      and soon we will see what hides in the cracks!
      Earth opening and diamonds aglow.
      ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  2. Veracious
    Animal
    Accepted by the white knight
    Weak body everlasting
    Strong heart all consuming
    Desire eyes, bright and dying
    A laugh that turns bigger, a cry, the sound that isn’t heard with ears, but with every soul
    Of this place. Heavy. Steps sinking, spinning. The magic in a rock that stares
    The same way
    Burn it all to black, where I get ahead of myself and feel my way in. Where it’s sparking silent and you are waiting. Surrender, you said

  3. Surrender to what? I didn’t say me. I’m only a passing phase of moonlight…I was born on a full moon who never stopped reminding me I wasn’t the source of her light. “Surrender,” said the moon who
    wasn’t even in charge- but she was so silver and beautiful I had to die trying. Just to believe in this world of open palms and sorcery. Just to see you again…as plain as God sees…

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