Tags
addictions, alcohol, cigarettes, enlightenment, food, marijuana, poem, poetry, unfolding
The poison keeps us separate, the Divine won’t enter a dirty house. I use poison to create my armor, the blockages feed my ego’s certainty that I am alone. What if I were a clear channel? What if I swept off the welcome mat, so that Shiva became my body and Shakti became my blood?
Do I want it enough to find out?