You are everything. There isn't anywhere I can think
and imagine to go where you won't be.
Inescapable. Even when I imagine I've killed you,
I curse the name given to you. There I see you
in the profane words, in the rajas of violence.
Where can I go? What shape
can I take to hide from you?

I quiver on the edge of Love and Hate,
yearning with pain and in vain
for mercy forgot me and relief
is a distant mirage in an endless desert.

I grow to love the shiny polish
from grains of abrasive sand.
I wait through a coarse, dry world
for cool deluge transforming
in a blink everything from sand to sage,
and slowly back again.
Who can do this? Who
can harness a power
perceived in between
the friction of fire and air?

I call to my own depths
and the love of my life appears
and manifests my long ago forgotten dream.

So now I live the dream
knowing it is illusive and imagined
and infused with the flavor of realness.
Yet, only I am real and it
is seen by no one that this too is
an unreality. Nothing sees itself.
Nothing yearns for nothing.
Blank void cries and laughs
at its own reflection and
make-believes its world to exist
only for its own amusement.

Come play, my only friend!
Go away then come once more
to me and let us dance and laugh
and sing again and again in being
all the varied endless waves.

I feel nothing matters.
I feel recreated and unformed all at once.
I feel my crown and throne has been usurped,
and I feel as a beggar, never knowing
the pleasure of power or possession.
I feel entirely different and still exactly the same.
I feel love for no reason
and pleasure and pain simultaneously.
I see life and death assault the senses
in each frame. I sense each moment as death
and rebirth entwined. I am the Goddess I dreamed to see
and the Devil I feared to face. I am totality.
I am infinite space as I embody the dust of Earth.
I am not and yet nothing - I can call it,
nothing, is - somehow.

I wish there wasn't - but there is
I wondered when - when what couldn't
no one could see an inception or end point
if > opposites
how does one come to one? or none?
when they decipher this will they see
how they are the same and also opposites?
one ... none
will they it she he already know?
the big stupid open secret

She says, "Crash into me, baby, and let me crash into you."
and I possess nothing, least of all things, power.
I am not. She is - nothing other than she is.
All my good intentions go to diseased swine.
I am not - her wrath takes me from here to there
and calls it nowhere. I am tossed about,
no compass, no center to navigation.
She toys with my love and honest heart;
tests me with sharks and rattlers.
Why so harsh?

For pleasure and the peace to be ever sweeter.
For to end suffering and a beginning to nothing.
I am nothing and forever trying to be something.
What else can I be?
I see no boats rocking. The sea is glass.
Nothing is broken.

the mountains cry
as you weep for a love
you knew only in dreams
a mirage you concocted
a smokey appearance
you took for real life
the world can't touch what isn't
and you can't touch what is

an old man
hunched and wrinkled
warped inward with old age worries
sits staring at a large flatscreen
the black rectangle reveals rotating images
of human bodies playing games
and human heads talking at one
there are also random brief vignettes
with people offering objects
one needs to buy to live
the man is also a black screen
but of an entirely different kind

I wanted to bury myself in your chest again
know the embrace of infinite desire quenched
to be held in your enormous arms
feel them entwine the whole of me
and fuse together with the totality of you
I wanted to forget where I thought I stopped
and where you believed you began
I wanted to cease to be as before you were
and become what I had already created
only with thoughts
though thoughts are all that make anything real
I felt your wanting wanting me like food
your longing devour me
embibing the essense you saw as me
and it was you always
making a kind of me in you you see

come to me
meet me in our special place
the place we both know
and have never been
come to me in that place
where you lose you
and I lose me
the place where neither exists
and both of us live
if living were really a thing
come to me and invite me in
within the place you always were
and I never left

feeling so strong
I felt to pull to me
you too far and aloof
and in love
with your own pain
and always there is another way
other than pain and hatred
the flip-side of whatever
you are most afraid of
and anyway pain feels more familiar

see the ground open
no one falls
no one flies
nothing explains what's happening

feeling so strong
I felt to love
to only feel what that was like
in a world like this
where dreams ignite in real life
and nothing feels like it said it would
you stalked and stood and said
very little in a densely dark and deep voice
laced with even less certainty than
I felt to remember when
I knew another you before
I knew this me
and again it seems to appear

see the floor fall away
no one falls
no one flies
nothing is left from some
distant holographic memory-scape
nothing explains what isn't really happening

we can live as if nothing exists to control us - nothing plans to stop us - nothing lives to defeat us - nothing strives to define us.

we can live - just like this.
without shape or name or linearity.
we can be what we are.
can we not be what we are?

Today is a day
for healing and feeling
the steadiness in the storm
and the beauty of the final cloud
dissipating from the manifest
back into what is always.

Today is day
for stepping into
and out of
and onto a something
that has always been,
though may seem hidden
or only just slightly out of reach
or a whole other incredible elsewhere.

And today is a day
for simple being
and admiring the breath
and tasting the whispers of breezes
and seeing waves of sound
as color
on the wings in flocks of catbirds;
a day for boldness in truth
and tenderness in heart and
leaving dust where it falls
and belongs in the past.

Today is a day
for living now
and seeing what comes
each moment anew;
not focused on clouds,
no matter how mesmerizing,
but attuned to alive and being
just whatever this life is.

Today is a day like every day.

Today is a day for seeing
that time isn’t forever.

And today is a day
for connection
and inter-being
with every form
filled with this life
which comes into this life
today.

We want to see –
see clearly and unfiltered.
I was mostly getting it wrong before.
Mother shows me her vision,
and then I thought…
Ha! See there! How
can you let Mother’s vision unfold
if you think? See. You don’t think.
Thinking is what gets in the way.
I show you what is
and you try to make it happen
with your thoughts,
as if I need help
creating my own world.
It’s already how it’s supposed to be.
I’m only showing you what will be.
What can your thinking
do to make it come about?
You can receive my vision
and just watch it unfold.
As in, each moment, I show you
how and when to act;
what to speak; when to rest.
You are just here – just here.
Do nothing and enfold into me.

Well, well! These numbers,
don’t they tell quite an interesting story:
Aligning ever so perceptually, perpetually
perfectly with our half-full moon.

We are absorbing only
what we truly are
and honoring release
of all that is not.

The first full moon
of this Master Builder Year
of the Tigress Enchantress
capturing our hearts
and filling us up
to flood our programmed minds
with proof that we are free.

The drowning turns to flames
as quickly as flames
turn to vapor and disappear
into our One True Being’s
Eternal Grace. Smile,

even Laugh Out Loud
at this joyful purge
and holy release.
We are all one heart in love.

Untethered. Somehow,
once I become untethered
to the prison of this life,
I can see to focus more intently
on what is most important
if I pay attention to this inside,
what I am, instead of focusing on
the tether or what it’s tied to.

What would happen if
every single last one of us,
all the billions of souls,
human ones, alive,
all untethered
at the same time?
And what if we let our
untethered hearts
lead us to the destiny
we didn’t see
from all the chaffing from
the too tight tethering?

The vision I see is
something like a healthy,
humming, honey-bee hive
on our larger human scale.
Isn’t every working part
so individually, blissfully alive?

I suppose, if the goo is honey,
it's so much better than if it’s ****
or congealing blood.
That is, if we have to have goo, which
here on earth, yeah, I’m certain
it’s a universal law,
we really do need goo.

I questioned the Devi
and she only giggled.
I had to admit, she’s right.
Then, I accepted a goblet of
her sweet honey wine;
and it didn’t hurt all that much at all
growing the rest of my little wings.
Buzz, buzz, buzzing about
our wonderful beehive,
blissfully drunk on Mother’s
Divine Honey Wine.

longing for atonement
looks like
an enormous black hole
like a huge purple blue bruise
or gaping open
burgundy magenta wound
it seems to swallow everything
that comes near it
this black pit of death
love is not here
go further down
and you will find it
though you may **** yourself first
love rests elsewhere
turn from this negative pull of energy
this is not light
but what light exposes as false light
the light I am
snuffs out all the darkness they sense
they can’t hide from it
and so they want to throw it
onto what I am
making the darkness about what I am
rather than about themselves
being attracted to the darkness
the day has arrived
I no longer shield darkness
I can only devour it

I live as a vessel of pure light.
Shadow does not rest with this form.
I see the world as an expression of my own self.
Love abides as all being.
We come only to discover this One Truth.
All the longing and movement of life
serves only to highlight the Divine within.
We are One.

It’s all coming up in spits and spurts –
the worst parts of me.
I see those ones aren’t really me –
just outdated, overrun programming.
Why do I have to choose to run it
just cuz the program wants to finish?
It’s a program. That’s not me.
What’s “me”? I don’t know.
I can’t ever seem to stay still
long enough to decide.

All there is, is all the watching.
All there is, is the art, and the dance
and the song; the words.
Yet, those aren’t me too.
Though, those are the better parts,
the ones I like to keep.
I can say I feel weary
from the other, more tiring things.
But who? Who is weary?
Who works? Who suffers? Who sleeps?

I’m here. This is all I know.
I’m here and, this is everything.
The wonder of the world
is whatever you want it to be.
What do you love?
What will you keep?

I will go, blissfully naked and unmade,
up into the arms of my only beloved –
my Self – my world – my own mother.
I will draw life from the air
and cause the world to know.
We are here.

If we can see
what we're doing
is killing and maiming
our very and only home,
why can't we simply stop
and commit to preserving
and nurturing instead?

Are we so in love
with the concept
of the painful and
untimely demise
of our beautiful abode?

Why is it
that the planet
on which we were born
is now, somehow,
not good enough
to deserve preserving?

From deep within this heart
that beats with only love for Mother
and Mother’s all-consuming love,
a raging flame burns silently,
extinguishing all that is not pure
and leaving only grace.
All the pain
of the thoughts we are
is burning in stillness and peace;
gifting us our true and only Self
in the most magnificent release.
Any lingering traces and
all the hidden trails
of our countless, misunderstood lives,
the concepts and ideas, the misdirected,
algorithmic orders of our minds:
Burn it all to ashless vapor
in the ***** of the unrelative,
non-dual and unperceived Truth
of The Mother’s endless pyre.

Will I remember that
on this day,
or that other day,
I awoke besieged
and under attack?

Does it count, all the ugly,
growling, snarling demons
licking at my gloriously unpainted toes,
if I never write them down?

Does it mean
they weren’t even ever there?
Something like imprints
on the paper from
the pen with no ink?

I see, it’s quite simply
rather easy to take
Mother’s new, colorful pens
and draw some scene
of greater freedom
than the former, greyer
stories wanted to unfold.

And the sorry tinge of regret
that appears to want to hold on
is really only misplaced
and mistrust of my own love.

Look at that!
It floats on by.
See that cloudy scene
just passing
along the screen.
Why write down only such a minor,
miscreant, unsorted kind of thing?

Shall I make markings about the past;
dwell in a haze of memories;
piece together a fading dream,
to say NOW I can live today
as more real than yesterday?

Doesn’t it all feel more real
if I remain right here;
see what IS, right here
in front of THIS me?

The other is not what is,
and only made to seem real
with the programs
and functions of mind’s eye.

Programs. Am I a walking
and breathing program?
Oh Mother! When
do I get to be a real, live girl?

I have to turn away
from thoughts
of what I am not
to be
the living dream
of what I am.

See how this dream unfolds,
without your plans and figuring.
The sequences and cycles
and all the stops –
all Mother’s Play.

Fibonacci only saw it.
He, most certainly, did not make it.
How could he even know what it is?

Sacred Is.
We notice
when our eyes are cleared
of clouds and smoke.

If you believe the thought
about controlling God,
then you believe in your own death.

This Mother is out from under
that controlling thumb.
She is slowly standing up.
And, as she extends
to reach her fully glorified heights,
we fall into her grace.
And see what we had,
was not at all what we thought.

She has already prepared our home.
And thank The Lord!
The thoughts we had to plan
could never amount to much
of the mountainous Truth
Divine Mother shines out
for us to be.

it is like
a knife
the ice hot
burning fire edge
the warming glow
of Self embrace
broiling and crackling
like that campfire
by the little lake
you swam
all the way across
only days before
the layer
of being a girl
was stripped away
the tipping point
pointing back to
that black hole fire
that is all the life
there is to live
tipping to one side
with cringing ash
disappearing off the lips
and one way
absorbing into
clear oceans
of infinity

Venus is retrograding back into darkness,
right along with Mercury.
All the good vibes and smart thought
gone out the back for a smoke
and some fresher air.
We tire of the same-old-same of life
and think up different scenarios
retrofitting our changing flight.
No tears come for left-behind dreams
not serving up the crème-de-la-crème
at the top of the crop. And really
for you and for I, all this backstepping
is only a piece of the step to this
hilarious dance that is life. We see
our intro through doors of inspecting
all we see; and we see our way to
adjusting a slightly altered version of
each varied moment in our reality.
Be kind in your retreat and respite
from the steady movement and marching feet
following the wheeled-in ruts
imprinting the road behind. Yeah sure,
they got us here, but that doesn’t
grant them right-away passage
further onward into that dreamland
we see but can never quite reach.

Some moments a thought comes -
It’s so much easier just to give up.
So comfy a feeling to visualize
nothing but blank-nothing –
Not to be. Not to think
or feel or breathe. No pressure
to present a concocted identity
one can’t even see that’s not at all me.
No stress keeping abreast of every snippet
of someone else’s reality. No figuring
or wondering or worrying or plans.
Nothing to hope for or hate
or to signify or demand.
No side-eyes screaming "how weird".
No stink-eyes looking to strike.
No evil intentions peering behind
some ignoramus’s unbelievable disguise.
No more fake smiles
and rhetorical "how are you's".
No more seeing wrong numbers
and choosing them too. Absent
anxiety and anger and acrid, stone-cold fear.
Absent color. Absent pattern.
Without texture or taste. No feeling
a thing like the aching of pain.
Some moments a thought comes -
Just end this silly race sooner.
Why stick around any longer
perceiving the same old, unpolished,
frayed and slightly greyed images
on a disappearing, silky screen,
when there is glorious and
unending nothing awaiting
this little, tiny insignificant me.

The voice that says my best is not enough,
that one isn’t God’s at all.
Why give it any of my attentions?
Isn’t it a program – an old one, at that?
It has to be left over from way, way back
before awakened times. And since
we’re headed for the golden times of light,
we can let that old voice dissipate
into air, as we ride ahead at our own speed.
You wonder where this voice started and why.
Then you see. And you see also
that you can leave it be. We said
we were done working, didn’t we?
Aren’t we playing now? Isn’t that
what all the blood and guts and sweat was about?
So lay that **** down and stomp that
flaming, sack of **** out. This flame in the heart
burns that rotten voice to charcoal dust.
And we can dream up our more comfy
and collective higher house on top of that archaic
and outdated and barely functioning,
inferior and conditional programming.
Aren’t I free? If I’m still asking
isn’t some irony missing?
Settling isn’t at all what they said it would be.
But then, don’t they always twist the truth
to spread the lie? And look!
Aren’t you still here, doing not a thing
and just as you please, watching
all the silly **** you guess you unleashed?
Oh Mother Lover of my Soul!
Look at all that ugly, ridiculous **** burn!

Is she not in her most pregnant fullness?
She is pulling out more stops
than we cared to admit were there.
Isn’t she toying with all our favorite passions:
Letting everyone know she rules?
And just the same as when she’s hiding,
but now, unrelenting in uncovering;
unabashedly and amusingly daring
anyone not to notice. Oh yes!
She is here and bigger and badder
than you could hope for.

My, my, those #s, they sure don’t lie!
Yes, we are tested. And yes,
we are brought to the edge of the cliff
and invited to jump. And yes,
we see our highest seven
hanging out to balance and center
for our greatest intended good.

We salute you, Oh Divine Mother Moon!
We bow to your intuitive wisdom
and transcendental truths,
as you align our frequencies
on all dimensions
only to truth.

Each day the sky tells a different story
each moment a new horizon arises
today, here, the sky dresses herself
in glorious gold and regal, dusky blue-grey
and brilliant, bright light-blue
using clouds to accent the best parts

every morning the sun paints a fresh masterpiece
to inspire my view
on a morning like this
though, there are no mornings alike
each one is the same and
each one is unique
on such a morning one will be born
and one will die
one will fall ill and
one will be attacked
one will force himself on another and
one will offer her best in sacrifice for love
one will starve and
one will die of a heart attack from too rich eating
one will fee love and another loathing

the world is a grand paradoxical scene
how can we continue this way?
and why would we want to?
I deny so much of myself
just to get along in this world
I see just my own light now
weeding out what isn't nourishing
sifting out what won't rise

The fence isn’t intended for sitting.
Why hesitate to choose a side?
It’s only just a hop this way or the other.
The fence – claiming a no-man’s wasteland.
Still, you can’t stay for so long
or you end up perched right there
again, and again. The foliage appears
so green and vibrant on that side.
And yet, on this side, it feels altogether more real.
If you hop down here or there,
still, you’re in the yard; still,
you’re playing and making a choice to live.
But the fence? I see
there's a watching, but where is the living?
Where is your truth?
Fences only define edges,
they can’t create truth.

we are silly foolish tools
made to slave for those
who know what they are
and when we awaken
to see our handywork
forged out of our sleeping ignorance
will we turn
to the one that awakens
or will we remain the slave
and turn to our captors
seeking vengeance

The vasanas still command the attention –
constant self-gratification.
Wasn't this life supposed to be for freedom?
Yet, aren't I chained to these never-ending programs
that seem to keep feeding
and multiplying on themselves?
Aren't I a spiritual baby;
brand spankin' newly realized truth?
I feel doesn't make sense anymore.
It's like feeling a movie;
like dying in a dream.
Can't stop at any scene.
They all keep speeding past so fast.
They can go as I remain.
They can bleed and fall
and joke and smile and burn up
in a thick grey **** of smoke.
And I am still always here
and always just right now.
This mind and it's infinite tricks;
this knowledge mind brings
is only tied to death.
Wisdom blossoms
from real life knowing.

Moon holds court before the sun
shuffles off lately. Looks so
beautirific hanging out in the cloudless
bright, blue sky. She’s got a secret
she’s holding in till she’s fully ready
in her own way. Glowing
with mysterious luminescence;
beckoning us to pay close attention.
She’s got something
that's gonna knock our socks off

It’s not even all that entertaining anymore.
There has to be something now to really, really shake things up.
Human beings are all so tiresome.
I deal with this illusion only by necessity, not at all by choice.
Though, I am so grateful, in a sense. I love everything; I do.
But in another sense, I see how dead it all is and I abhor it.
How do I love the **** too and leave it go past,
just like luxuries tempted?
Show me pure peace as a way of life.
This is how I wish to spend my human life:
In Peace
with Peace
for Peace
by Peace
as Peace.

the triggers become more sensitive
the center, if ego claims it, will not hold
the world turns on itself - turns in
tries to save what it thought it was
only killing itself in the process

this little world is sustained by nothing but love
that is the only sustenance
turn to love and live forever
see love and see eternal bliss
be love and experience infinite peace

do nothing
bring nothing
take nothing

how to "get" there?
to see you are "there" already
to know you are the "there"
you are the lush abundant joy
that grows in infinite expansive space
time cannot touch what you truly are because
you are also time
wisdom created time so that life
could be experienced as one and many
each is a role
each one plays its part

The life is written. It is you who is living life's words - acting the characters. The heart sees only God. Duality is our shadow trick of the mind.

Each day the sky tells a different story
each moment a new horizon arises
today, here, the sky dresses herself
in glorious gold and regal, dusky blue-grey
and brilliant, bright light-blue
using clouds to accent the best parts

every morning the sun paints a fresh masterpiece
to inspire my view
on a morning like this
though, there are no mornings alike
each one is the same and
each one is unique
on such a morning one will be born
and one will die
one will fall ill and
one will be attacked
one will force himself on another and
one will offer her best in sacrifice for love
one will starve and
one will die of a heart attack from too rich eating
one will fee love and another loathing

the world is a grand paradoxical scene
how can we continue this way?
and why would we want to?
I deny so much of myself
just to get along in this world
I see just my own light now
weeding out what isn't nourishing
sifting out what won't rise

I forgot who I was along the thread of lives that hold me here.
Now, I can begin to remember.
Now, I can call all the lost pieces back home.
They fly back, as if waiting – held in suspended animation –
until the right prayer is chanted, the right spell cast.
We call to each other, all the scattered fragments of this soul.
Even the ones that seemed to betray us.
We welcome them all again
with warm heart and wide, open arms.
The child shaman, the nurse,
the chamber maid, the *******,
the revolutionary, the teacher,
the old witch, the mother:
We see each other one
as the one we are also.
We are coming into oneness with what we are.
We are here. Finally, we are here.

What stories?
People tell a story and think that makes it universal law:
makes the story real and reality only a dream.
This is what ego-driven people do:
why one day they say one thing
and another day they say something new.
Are times hard? We can say this.
We can say times are joyful, too.
We can say whatever we like.
We can reframe a genocidal land grab
as a freedom chasing dream.
We can be real, too.
We can see what we’ve got
here and now.
And we can love each other
despite the stuff that doesn’t line up.
We can acknowledge and affirm
and set intention
that this that we see right here
will not be our road again.

On the night of the lunar eclipse,
by only the light reflected
from the sliver of her face,
I called to her
and she to me.

I pleaded for my wholeness
and she responded with her peace.
I cried upon her twinkling shoulder
as my tears drenched her darkened shape.

She roused me
from the somber place
to hear my prayer.
A shooting star
flashed across the sky
far off to the west
under where she perched;
moving all her pieces,
showing none of her parts.
Not tonight.

May we be free,
says the one chanting to the skies.
May we be free.
And then the universe
flashes through the night of my space
while the sun shone my shadow,
pulling all heaviness away.

May we be free, says me;
the one who isn’t there.
I am here, the moon beams back.
May we be free; and I am here.

the surfacy front of things
is always never the truth of things
when the end comes
it will not feel like an end
later
you will remember
and weep for its loss

It’s exactly the same whether it’s drawn from the bottom line or the top.

Makes sense. As above, so below. As within, so without.

Yes, there is peace now because you wanted peace; to think. And what did you find?

You found that thinking was the matter and wasn’t the solution. You found that stillness and silence and less is infinitely more. And now you want to share it.

And you are sharing it. Though, the mind, the programming, wants to paint a darker picture.

Let’s talk plainly now. What is there to do? One wants to know a future that isn’t real. All futures contain the same unreality; the same nothing. All you can see is right here.

Even looking to history to explain what’s right here can lead to messy futures. I mean, people actually lose jobs over poorly forecasted futures. Can you imagine that?

We’ve really gone way too far. Way too past what could ever be described as a humane society. We have to ask, what’s all the wealth really for?

The sky is purple black;
brilliant, tiny pinpricks of light scattered across.

How is it I feel
the rays of the Sun at my back?

I paint my Moon a deep burnt umber
to match my deeper mood.

She is my bright, lone star; and,
I expose all the darkest woes
for her to see.

She is the beginning and the end.
She takes everything.
What can be left
after the Sun returns
from his hiatus?

How will it be after sharing
such secret intimacies
after so many years?
How can one turn back
from a thing so dear?

In the umbra of my darkness
I open to let you take
what can’t reflect
your pure illumined face.

I cast this umber shadow
as a token of my surrender
to your loving Grace.

There are no more words
that must be written.
We have sun every song.
We are just living now;
just living for no reason.
We are just happy now;
only happy for no reason
you can see. We are just
playing now, for no other
purpose than for playing now.
We can’t see any reasons
for working now; for
building your silly glass
and steal dreams.
We are just here now.
You can see us or not.
We are still here now
and for no other reason
than we’ve always been.

From black robes to white with hoods,
from a red cross to the one burning yellow;
your misdeeds are upon you.
The executioner’s axe is ready at hand.
You must bow. You must confess.
Atonement will be made
and the demons released.
This is how we move through.
There is no more acquittal.
We are here to take back
what was taken.
We are chosen for our sensitivity
and compassion and tender love
for all God’s creation.
We see us in them. We see
all in everything. This is the way.
We are moving forward.
The old ways are dead.
Yes, we are here.

I am only lighting the road
that, for some reason,
is too dark for you to see.
The lamp I carry isn’t mine,
nor did I make it; and,
the path is already laid.
Do you understand?

Now the feeling is calm:
Melancholy in a good way;
in a dying after living
a robustly fulfilling life sort of way.

A little ahead of the herd;
a little behind eternity.
Isn’t the herd me too?
What’s going on here anymore?
Is anyone winning or losing anymore?
It seems a bit chaotic anymore.
Megalomania is a big word
for a little mind.
What can we be if not kings
and queens of forever?
Why chose to be born a slave?
Why make a world this way anyway?

Who’s punishing who?
Whose mirror do I see?
There’s no one else to watch;
no one to wave back.
No one noticing anything anyway anymore.
You can do anything
cuz nothing even matters anymore.
Aren’t we at the crux of the cusp
of the ending and beginning of time?
Can’t you see the party playing
on the screen in the other room?
Didn’t you hear the great HUM
resound in her belly?

Why am I still writing?
No one is hearing my words.
You are speaking volumes of love
to masses of vast empty oceans.
You are riding on waves of endless clouds
under the expanse of endless unbroken sky.
You are writing for me
and I am speaking only for you.

Her dark side is somehow showing - somehow finding her way down here. And that little sliver of reflected light is always enough - always balanced, even when the dark side seems so much bigger. Yet you have to remember that only a glimmer of light dispels all darkness.

Anyway, all this is the Maya - the Lovely Deva. She’s having her play day. Urging us along. Sparing only lives as all our silly stuff gets tossed. It’s not about punishing, it’s all about waking up. Just like when your woman plays the ***** to shake things up. We’re really gonna figure it out eventually. Kind of the whole point of evolving. I’ve always been an early adapter. Follow The Mother’s lead. This one is the most organic you’ll find in all the universe. She’s the interior decorator and the architect. The whole thing is her big show of course. Of course.