spirit field

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I like the faraway sound. I know anything can bounce back. Trains cry outside my window as they move loud and clear through the fog and the cold. You did this to me. Now I lay, because I can, planning escapes from the pain. Hitting walls inside. Listening to no answer at all. A chill moves in my room. I myself opened the window late last night to be free from suffocating silence and aging. I did this to myself, and a freeze of wild death entered while I sang in the quiet. Symbolically, that I myself, am not helpless but an agent of change. I am a reason to love you as me who is clearly defeated by so many noises. The ones that pull downward and question existence. We know that. We all know what that sounds like. A hand moves through the dark inside the early morning hours. I’ve been dreaming of all that haunts me. I blame you. Because you did this. We both failed at a vision of beyond body and mind. The wind in my room
starts to hurt with an ache, my cold lonely body. The sound of silent crying, dry tears. No answer at all. Just a sigh, then goodbye. “Goodnight.” I won’t haunt you from in here. I’ll go, down the hall. The long hallway into another room and imagine, just imagine your eyes. You won’t live forever, you’ll be dead, in a grave. I’ll remember your words and I’ll do something about it. Human existence, why nobody helped us. A big plan was brewing but it disappeared because I am small and weak and fragile. I got up and ripped the big puffy blankets off my bed. I opened the window to breathe in the cold that would take me. I cursed you and prayed you’d be free from my burden. I ignored the sharp stab, I ignored the fear of knowing. I vowed to heal your wounds and get you what you need. Young hope, a basket of flowers, a summer breeze, a light flowing goddess who isn’t shallow though not deep. Anything is possible late at night in these dreams. But the morning is coming, warnings have set in, I write quickly. The heater has been turned off. I have no blanket. I have nowhere to hide. Love has cursed me. My heart has been broken by life. I wish I was here long ago to see the white horse in the field. The white horse I passed today on a walk. In the forest that was really just a neighborhood. I wish I didn’t know the man had the saddle that the little boy jumped in. On top of the pretty white horse. She was old now. Softer. Nobody sees. She doesn’t even exist, he just needs something to ride, to practice on. Reigns, pull them. She’ll listen. She’s trained. I imagine how harmless she is because she’s broken. I look at you not noticing a thing and a fire rages. Only inside, you’ll never know. I talk of crystals and how they find us and tell us everything. I watch the water in the creek, bright wild water that will soon be dry. I thought, “the snow has caused this, it’s all useless. I have no control.” I thought, “we are water.” I thought, “crystals and water are the same.” I thought, “water stores memory and we are only our pain returning.” I thought, “clear crystal, I’m practically invincible.” I thought, “I’m old and broken.” I thought, “he will soon ride me.” I thought, “Iย am soft and desperate.” I knew, “water knows without trying because I have nowhere else to go…and these are only my thoughts.”ย  This was after I talked about abduction and how the world doesn’t understand anything and all the ones who knew forgot. And here I am alone, with you. The road ends at the door. You leave out my door. I dream sad things because I can’t change anything, it’s inevitable that this would occur. My hands are cold, my feet get so cold I can’t feel myself walking. My face disappears and slowly the ache becomes numbness. The train isn’t crying, now it’s only howling. Which I can take. Because then I think of wolves and free things out in the wild that destroy and never leave each other on purpose. They don’t have mirrors and comparisons. Strategies and deception. They are outside my window as I freeze in here. A big crystal beautiful ageless ice cube with slow moving dreams of freedom from pain and inextinguishable eternalย love. The body can’t take me. No one can take me, not from you. Love does these things. Denies, lies, sabotages. Fear of ripping away the blanket, an old sad destroyed body of pale white lies underneath. What was there had been too many things to list. What is there is only words written due to desperation. A long deflating sigh. A memory of the road that led here. All the pictures I took. All the flowers I captured, now dead. But I’ll pretend it’s forever, my head hurts with lies from the deep. Hatching lies, newborn sagging lies. Your face is so beautiful in the shadows. Your smile is so doomed because of me. These feelings, the pull toward the door…because we need a destiny together. Let me in, I won’t leave. We both know I’ll die. We don’t know when. We know twenty four is gone. I lay here. I felt sorry…now I don’t feel a thing. The blanket is on the floor. I am now as cold as the amphibian we saw smashed with it’s tail cut off. Yes I didn’t like what I saw. No, there was no reason to move him from the road. Because he was already gone but I did it anyway because I am still here and it hurts to rage into nothing. Until we face the truth I will keep writing, because I have nowhere else to go. I am a homeless star shining in on myself. Naked and as light as my love song. Dreamer, dream of me and my soft hands. How I loved you even though my back sagged and I was broken. Dream of me with no fence or saddle. Just as white light soaring through a forest of flowers and echoes of wolves worshipping the coming moon. Dream
of me from the other room as the star you never left. Because it’s real, every word. All of me without you here. Everything I do to protect you from myself. All the love that blows the night through me. Every cold whisper in your sleep. All the warm I give by taking what’s gone. This is dying, the process of how crystals are formed. Where anything remotely close to love must go. In through one door only. I do what I must as I watch you struggle with the changes. I let go, you left me. But not for long, I know this. That’s why death doesn’t scare me with blankets and heaters. That’s why I open windows and listen to hours pass. That’s why I think of you and where you’re headed because of me, despite me. How will I escape for you, into you. How will I go when I promised forever. These are the hot stabs you must ponder as I have. The fire tears that burn as low down as possible. I never knew how real pain was, until these things began to evaporate and I was still here. Rolling over in a bed all alone, naked and uncovered. Listening, seeing only black. Hearing only your old voice. Long ago, I heard you call me. Long ago you said, “I’ll be back.” My love, there is no other way. But to remember you forgot me. But to know that you returned. But to see I love you. But to hear me die. Where will you go, my self. My beloved agony. Where will you love, my heart murmur. My white crystal river. Where will you bury me if not in your heart’s open sky? The night hasn’t ended but it’s gone for now, the cold has become a blue glow that hovers. I am a god who enters your room without ever leaving mine. These words are me in your spirit field.
Sharada Devi

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12 thoughts on “spirit field”

  1. I felt your pain, in my heart, last night.

    I wonder if you felt mine when the fire raged. When you were looking at the horse, or the boy, or the man.

    Or when the water moved.

    I want of the cold not of dead flowers.

    Beyond the howl, in an empty room.

    I do what I do because of sound. Sometimes it is an empty echo, or a harsher one that serves it’s purpose, like to change and show, that the room is only empty because of you. Sometimes it is a silent sound that is in the room. Where you are in me and it is over.Sometimes it’s a lie. A white flower.

    1. How do you know whose pain you felt.
      You wonder what I feel…how?

      Your mind. Is filled with sound.
      Thought bodies, there is no silence.
      Fantasy and projection.

      Unrequited anger. I’ll go there.
      I’ll marry the war god.

      He’ll hear me and we’ll fight.
      White flower funeral.
      Get over the hump.

      I get bored without new weapons.
      I get tired of hearing silence.
      I get lost without losing,
      my mind to itself. I give myself
      to the battle of a god who doesn’t blame.
      Or make final words, out of hot air.
      Hot heart, cool down and listen
      to me. It’s not about thoughts disguised as devotion. It’s about action that yields
      devastation that becomes the emptiness
      you think you own. Because I am free…
      and as long as delusion reigns. He won’t
      be a very victorious god, though I love him…

      1. The pain is real.
        Inside and before laughter,
        All the things I could have told you fell like water.

        Pain to be felt, you in an image,
        I get bored with poetry.
        But not of myself- always something coming….

        Pain that you get bored with me.
        Anger useful to break through,
        Always for you.

        I don’t know what to say..
        A white flag? No
        A black one, where you invisible are felt, shining like god before I can speak
        Of pain.

        The anger is real- the fire. I ask if you can feel it now. Can you hear breathing. Close, your smile. Smoke from this.. I lay down like a plucked, white flower, given, up where you are- the sound, recedes back, into the cold that you hold
        in your bones, warming my
        Entire heart. Causing me to say thanks,
        For nothin.
        -your escaping lover, going the other way, to show you who I am
        Not. You do. Show me- that the fight is for me, for us, shining
        Unconditional like armor, soft like stone, eyes like star

  2. I write this for you, Dear one.
    ๐ŸŒธ as i am also listening to the hours pass
    … waiting for the sun to rise โ˜€๏ธ
    meanwhile the wind whips wild outside my window.
    everyone wonders where it come from
    what has stirred up the complacent skies
    but it is clear to me
    It is Hanuman’s father… The Wind.
    I see your elegant photos of the trees in bloom
    ๐ŸŒธ – Cherry pink and apple blossom white –
    Just like the song my father used to play for me on his trumpet on a long ago saturday night
    I would dance around the room in my bare feet while he played his serenade of joy.
    You write of the white horse and that she is old and soft.
    If old is to be soft – then i say – bring it on!
    I have been too hard these many years.
    Soft, i think, is a good thing.
    Not weak and faltering,
    But kind and compassionate
    Soft, in complete love with all things
    Gently easing into becoming one with the unknown
    The soft white horse
    Ceres
    saddle gone
    and free to roam
    The wind horse on her magnificent onward journey home.
    ๐Ÿ’Žโœจ ๐Ÿ’Žโœจ ๐Ÿ’Ž

    1. Soft, yes, soft is warm, cozy, and feels good. But I say this…never, never, ever let go of being a strong warrior. One must stay strong, but be soft at the same time. This is a very delicate balancing act, but with practice, I believe is totally possible. It is ongoing practice for me. Om Mani Padme Hum.

    2. Soft is to be effortlessly strong.
      Set in ones self with total fearless
      commitment to whoever you find
      yourself to be…

  3. Always a strong warrior-ess
    Yes!!!
    regardless of the circumstance
    Not warm – not cozy – not cold – not rigid
    i said soft – from my perspective
    because i have had too much hard.
    I say soft because I would like to be more like Kamala Devi,
    And i am reminded of the comment that Sharada Devi made about her
    after The Guatemala retreat.
    Kamala Devi is soft and sweet – and at the same time strong and bold.
    I love her delicate yet fierce balance.
    She is an incomparable warrior-ess.
    ๐ŸŒŒ๐Ÿฆ‹๐Ÿƒ๐ŸŒบ๐Ÿ’ซ๐Ÿ’ฅ๐ŸŒˆ

    1. Believe me, she’s come a long way…
      and she doesn’t give up!
      She relentlessly follows her heart,
      through all darkness.
      When I met her, she talked so quiet
      I couldn’t hear even her…she whispered
      to me leaning across the table after BD walked away…”you need to help women.”
      I said, “what? I can’t hear you.”
      “You need to help women,” she whispered again. She wore more makeup back then…

      we’ve come clean in more ways than one since then. I can hear her now. She is louder.
      And her softness is now a strength rather than a fear…she knows what I mean.

      Kamala Devi- how a butterfly is made.
      I could hug her forever…

      1. I love Kamala Devi
        She is an earthly angel spun from a gossamer cocoon destined for the infinite and beyond.
        ๐ŸŒฑ๐Ÿ›๐Ÿฆ‹๐Ÿงšโ€โ™‚๏ธ๐Ÿ”ฅ๐ŸŒน ๐ŸŒŸ๐ŸŒˆ

        This Is Love
        โค๏ธโค๏ธโค๏ธ

  4. I do know what you mean. And wow ,,You remember everything Sharada Devi ! I cringe thinking about that! You said โ€œyou donโ€™t have to be pretty all the timeโ€. I was so worried that someone would think badly of me if I didnโ€™t measure up to their idea of me. Whatever that could have been. Trying so hard to be accepted…only making myself more invisible. You gave me the brutal truth, and never ever once gave up on me. How many times have you said โ€œ just listen to meโ€. I did, but I had to forgive myself and start listening with my heart to be able to hear what you were really saying. I get that now. No more window dressing anymore. No more cocoon. Just gratitude for You. ๐Ÿ’•๐ŸŒฟ๐Ÿ•Š

    Forever Your ride,
    Midnight fairy who
    Carries the moon,
    Into the cosmos
    So the stars can bloom. โœจ๐Ÿฆ‹๐Ÿ–ค๐ŸŒ•๐Ÿ’ซ

    Canโ€™t wait to see you.

    And Radhe, you couldnโ€™t ever be described as hard , when poetry and song flows so sweetly out of you. You do you , and thatโ€™s all you can do. ๐ŸŒน

    1. You are the sweetest angel
      feathers of light
      Petals of love
      float on the dark water
      untouched by this world
      pure lotus goddess
      beautiful flower

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