ཚེར་མ།
Thorns

I move through myself
like a wind howling
through the desert
the darkness inside
is space
according to my mother.

Outside the wind is blowing, too.

My quivering heart is held, despairing,
by all the elements
but mostly by
my friendྲ.



April 7, 2020

© 23. November. 2020 Simla

on the path of liberation
there are many thorny brambles
which you will cut

some you will step on
some make you bloody
some will curse you to peace


some you remove carefully
some you kiss
some you push through

you will make only mistakes


but on your way of ascension
you need someone to trust
and that is His Holiness
Saint Germain.

April 30, 2020

Your heart
It has to break

Sometimes it is ugly
Sometimes it will smell
Sometimes ashes will rise
Burning shreds of heart
Illuminating the sky.

Don't be mistaken
This ain't beautiful
These flames

This method of illumination
Is making light
from burning flesh

And after the ashes have settled
And the birds
Have taken their share
the sun may rise and shine again
But you I we are
No longer there.

יחד

9. September 2019

photography © 24. November 2020 by Nora Hoffmann

taken  © 23. November of 2019 by Nora Hoffmann

It's not shit, it's a door
It's guarded by all the shit you see
But you see me

Behind it
Inside it
On the other side
Outside
On your side
And in the shit

I am.

˙11. September 2020

The Higher Self is a wild place.
If I wasn't so terrified,
I might feel quite at home there.

held in my inner father's arms
his strength
is mine

my heart chars
its coal bursts
into dust

onward
that life has passed
I'm reborn

a new heart
grows

I've never written about the more serious aftermaths of my Kundalini Rising

when the serpent rises
and the shit debris
hits the fan

and I can barely stand
all the inner shit
and helpless fury
I see
inside me

shit particles stirred up
and flying around

like dust
in a thunderstorm
minus the rain
that would make the dust heavy
and let it fall down
back onto mother earth
whence it came

for this would calm me
if the dust were to be heavy from rain

Only King Arthur's love
makes this dust heavy enough
for it to sink
through the layers of my mind
to the bottom of my heart
and become something
useful
where I can see
myself again
in peace
and dust-free.