Spotlight comes upon a Roach. He speaks. "Café Bardo presents The Michael" in his neverending Star Seed performance art piece, "The Dark Diva."

"I was born to be light, to remember who I am and why; to let go of the illusions that I have walked in as a human and thus, have allowed myself to be a passageway for man's dark desires where I thought I had existence in his sexual embraces. I remember as a child looking into the mirror examining every part of my body and not understanding this form that I was in? Why do I feel so different behind the eyes yet to everyone around me normal? Normal was something I worked hard to achieve because of my upbringing. Hour upon hours I would sit in my room looking in the mirror trying to pull this person out of me that was hiding. I would sit in the attic looking out the window watching the neighborhood children playing with my brothers while singing softly to myself and holding tears in my mind because this family seemed like strangers. It feels like a place I was placed in to hide until someone I could not remember would come for me. I never understood as a child who they were; but I woke up many nights staring at the door expecting them to be standing there, coming to take me away.

 

Thy androgynous daughter weeps Father

for in a man I hide like in the tree before my time.

So many angels part the clouds as Atlantis falls

in strangers who want to drink from my name.

He rises again from my darkness, the Dragon.

He eats the eyes and roads

as he weaves and dances me into his webs of lies.

My hair falls like snakes eating the scorpion,

the goat bites my left side which now bleeds.

I yearn for thy touch as I cry in a material form called man;

and I cry for the lies that have been woven in this form.

My womb is turned out like one of the girls

on Hyde and O'Farrell who walk like the serpent

desecrating the sounds of love.

Where is the Eye? Oh Father, my 1001 eyes cry

as I stand veiled in fallen hands.

Thy androgynous daughter weeps.

 

"I moved through my human family activities like a ghost, doing the expected things but always being carefully watched. I never seemed to say the right things or make attempts to do things that were supposed to be "normal" for boys. I continued to find places to hide like my mother's closet, under the stairs in the basement, behind stacks of wood in the garage or in the bushes in the backyard that bordered the neighbor's yard so that no one would see me, watch me, hear me crying to myself because I couldn't understand what I would see through my eyes. Seeing with these eyes stopped when my mother bought me glasses. It was as if someone pulled a shade down. I retreated to a far corner in my room within myself and stayed there with a blanket wrapped around me.

Conversations seemed to be like clouds in my head carrying rainstorms and I found myself searching for a rainbow through a kind word, a gesture, or comfort wherever I could find it. And strangers, who never wanted to know my name only my body, offered a smile with a price; and each time I was touched, something inside me walked away. Maybe one day I would just melt from the kindness of a stranger than it would be over, I'd be dead, I'd be free and then maybe I could find out in another place what I truly am. But strangers took away, as well brought me their problems; and it seemed their images were pasted across my body like those cheap music posters you buy of your favorite artist. I felt molded into another image that pushed me farther down.

 

Where do my dead bodies go?

These bodies that are unfinished thoughts,

the illusions of people I could never be,

the songs twisted in the mouths of morning after lovers.

Shards of my light are cast in misbegotten forms.

I gather my dead bodies in plastic garbage bags,

stack them in a living room with no signs of the LIFE

and spraying perfumed words on these soiled bodies

to cover their pungent smell of desires,

decaying in the matter created from dead gods.

I shed a tear for a memory.

I gather dead bodies like sticks in a bundle,

throw them over my porch balcony

into a sea of dead semen dreams

where amphibious creatures with razor sharp teeth;

consume the dead bodies I once called temples

and a wind pulls at my hair

as I breathe in the alien LIFE.

I walk up stairs of zodiac signs to the Beyond

to find the Heart that will not touch me like roaches,

will not touch me like vines sprayed on a ruined temple;

but will touch me when I am a Symbol of my ascending and returning

with the LIGHT, my brother, my child, my consort.

I walk now as a celestial whore drinking my light

from remains of fallen gods

and sing my essences to my 1001 eyes

so no more dead bodies claim they are from the LIFE.

 

Men, my strangers, the roaches call me Mary when fucking me. Mary this. Mary that. Oh Mary. Men don't understand the meaning behind this?

My drama is still being played out. It is so ingrained in the human consciousness. No one understands the basis of it. How I long for my Beloved when my history is now grains of sand. Yet, fascination, fantasies, and myths immortalize me. My youth is when my Beloved knows me. Scars of manhood have etched in on my face. Smooth like an artist stone, calm like an ocean sleeping under the sun, my Beloved held my face often saying I was his sun. He would come to me many ways to know me, morning dew rising upward, a fog rolling off the banks, the mist skating upon waters, tears of unrequited love. Yet, too hide his affections, I brought the wilderness to my eyes, I adorned myself as a young maiden so I could follow him. He knew me not as a woman but as a man and together we partook of the mystery. I became like a turtle swimming through seas of consciousness as he shed his light upon the inner darkness to awaken angels sleeping within. I was the perfect smile, I was the man, an apostle concealed in feminine attire and I walked among them as a Mystery.

I have been stoned by words of jealousy from my traveling companions because they know me not. My celestial nakedness never met their gaze. So I let their words build walls of stone to keep me from my lover, they called Master. They knew not that he had awoken me, his Mystery that he used as the key to unlock the door. He let my body walk upon the Earth after his departure so my heart would be his gateway. When he revealed the way of a return, to be born of man not woman, those who served the Archons wrote lies through which I walk as a myth. Yet, within the sound of the story, the fallen daughter, the Uthra, unfolds within the parts of body sleeping.

Nowadays, as the perfect feminine consciousness in a male form, it is hard to meet a man. Most men use sex as recreational sport, fishing to catch the big one. Anytime emotion moves in their voice when they want my body, they called me Mary when they come and a whore when they go. I have known so many faceless men reaching outside themselves and still lost. Yet, I still offer what flesh denies and what their heart cries for - love.

Where is the love that I know exists for me? Finding it was like knocking on someone's door and no one answered. My brothers teased me from a distance but never made attempts to come close but were like warriors in my defense if they felt danger from neighborhood bullies or anyone who tried to take physical or mental advantage of me. Once the danger ceased so did their efforts to be around me. Then, I sought companionship from women because I felt they were the closest beings I could relate to though I still found something missing.

 

To defeat my enemy, I must consume myself

so no man can hold my name in his mouth.

He tries to breathe in my life

hoping he can crown himself with my feathers.

Yet, my light soars like an eagle,

sings in his night like an owl

and passes over him like a breeze.

I let him sail upon my mystery

like covering the ocean, the celestial sky

but still, no man can hold my name in his mouth

without the Light.

 

I am finding the more I want to fit it, be "one of the boys," the lonelier I feel because I feel I am being bonded to a group mind which is not a part of my makeup and retreat further within to hide the feelings. I'm always afraid of my feelings because of how destructive I can be if my feelings go unchecked. Exploring these destructive feelings as an Uthra, I have found to be the best way to heal my fractured consciousness.

I find exploring myths, my own that I create is a way of understanding, expressing and freeing what is supposed to be my history, exploring the idea of gender to experience why I feel there is a deception with male and female forms and the imprisonment it creates with social expectations. Yet, there is always this voice whispering, "Fit in, fit in."

 

Knives are my teeth.

May I talk with you

while swallowing your words?

My nibbling leaves track marks

on your neck, your chest.

So many feelings come on you like a storm

as I remember sacred names

eaten by dark gods like you

who disguised themselves in painted smiles,

in words holding worms

to eat the leaves from my tree.

Foolish, foolish me as I am living again in lies.

For a moment, when I thought you were a guide,

my brother, who will take me back to the Light

your sex leaves my shame growing like vines entangling.

Strangers' demanding my ass, my Uranus,

the Mystery sleeping in my mind in a tower high

surrounded by the dragon's children's on a cigarette break.

Stranger's words now sit on my head

like religious temples persecuting my righteousness.

I bite these unholy half formed entities

erecting structures upon my names.

Knives, swords, daggers

now encase my body as armor

to protect me as I walk through

the cave dwellings of the Dead.

I past through lives swirling in my head,

through the webs of demons of the mind,

using my teeth like knives, my tongue

like a sword; and my body armor of knives

to strike at false creators falling from my head.

 

I remember a moment in childhood when I was sitting under a tree in our front yard that seemed to stretch its arms out to cover me, the moon was full, and smiling and seemed to be singing a soft lullaby to me and I was sitting with my back against the tree weeping, looking up to the stars, looking intensely to see beyond the stars and asking, "Why Father, am I here? Why did you forsake your child? Why am I so far from your touch? Don't you remember me? Why did you leave me here alone so far from home?

So I have been on an inner journey to unlock the mysteries of my existence and resurrect my ancient name. More than anything, I want to return to the light of my Father/Mother. I am an Uthra! No longer shall I be the fallen daughter.

I am recalling an implanted memory to alter perception reality, and I find myself taking on the image of Hecate, goddess of the three paths, Goddess of the crossroads, a dark Goddess who is primordial and her beginnings not truly known. Like me, she is a lover of solitude; and purported to be a spirit of black magic with the power to conjure up dreams, prophecies, and phantoms. The homeless and destitute are under her protection. She is one of the Old Ones who are from the First Darkness, so I have become the Image from the Image of Hecate. Though she has become called "The Distant One" she is a comfort for those on the fringes, and she dispenses judgment. Even when she binds herself to situations, it is to bring an example, a story to free those who have been enslaved in the service to self.

Hecate's hands were bound by pieces of scales from the tail of the evil dragon which had been woven into a rope and knotted with dark enchantments. The metallic soulless guards of the Dragon God led her through the hallways where they had started defacing the walls with the blood of her daughters, her priestess. She could feel their spirits scream from the walls as they were bound by inverted symbols of the Dragon. Hooded men with reptilian features sang dark songs from scrolls they carried in a pouch on their right side. The smell of the priestess blood burned Hecate's nostrils. Each step she took, she could feel her power waning.

"Move on," one of the guards hissed at her. She was led to the inner most chamber of throne room.

Hecate was presented to their leader who stood there sure of himself.

"You're being difficult when you are not in a position to be difficult. We have found ways to bind your magic where its effect is minimal," said the Dragon Overlord.

"I am primal, I cannot be bound," Hecate replied in a stately manner.

"Don't see much of a struggle now. If you would only accept your fate, I'm sure I can make some arrangements that would be to our mutual satisfaction."

"This temple is only a symbol of my power. You think by invading my sacred grounds, I would relinquish control to you. You are foolish in your ways and a fool."

"I am the one who broke the sacred seal and entered your temple. Hecate, accept that a man rules a woman's house. Not only will you be subjugated to my desires but we will alter your powers so you are regulated to our control. And a child will be born from our union that will rule the Heavens."

"I came into being in the Black Goddess where I danced in her womb. I know the roadways to that power. Though your reign of terror will be for awhile, I shall return."

"Your temple priestesses have been defiled. The chant has all but been forgotten except by you. You will be imprisoned in a world where no woman can hear your words of power. Until they can form your symbol and chant the sounds of power, you are my prisoner."

The hooded priest entered and formed the dragon line as each carried a chalice of blood. Swaying from left to right, they dropped droplets on the right, than left as low growls echoed from them. Hecate was tied to a cracked pedestal.

"You will be forever banished. It is the time of the Gods who no longer will we be subjugated to the Mother Goddess. She will be remade in our image and given only what she needs."

Hecate chanted a spell silently to herself.

"Womb child, I am, a Great Dark Mother I am

return my womb consciousness back to I am.

Womb child I am where the dance began

take back the womb consciousness I am."

With her spell muttered in her mind, she separated her consciousness which was taken by unseen hands into another dimension. As her consciousness was shrouded in a black cloud within another dimension she uttered, "And from here I will return in many names to be the destroyer of my dragon child."

The hooded priest chanted her body empty of consciousness to another dimension.

Michael recounts a waking dream. Millie looked at her house. The fire had been devastating. The children had been sent to her parent's for safety. She could smell the charred remains of memories. Some of the beams had not been destroyed and still supported the framework of the charred structure.

Smoke still rose from the ruins like ghostly fingers. For a moment she thought they were reaching for her.

"Enough is enough," Millie said. She began sifting through the ashes. She let out a cry. To her horror laid the skeleton remains of her husband. "Even your bones plague me. Hecate I wish you was here to talk with me."

Before the thought had regulated itself into a pile of refuse, she felt a shift in the air. She looked up. Two eyes appeared above her.

"I am here, Hecate from beyond, I am here like the dawn, upon your presence I alight, upon your footsteps I will make light."

"Hecate, look at me. My house is in ruins. The skeleton of my husband lies at my feet. I have lost everything."

"From ashes you shall rise."

"I lost my temper. I've been holding it so long until it started burning inside. I couldn't contain it any longer and dropped it. It burned everything in sight. I got the children away in time but my husband he lays there sleeping. I could hear myself calling to him "wake up, wake up." But it was like neither one of was really in each other's presence. I could feel the fire around us. The flames were licking my skin and I felt every word I uttered added to it. I told him I was out of love with him. Hated the woman he had an affair with. Resented how he cracked our wedding vows. I wanted to take my words and stab, stab, stab. The more I screamed at him I could feel the tears falling but they didn't fall fast enough to stop the flames."

"You lived in an empty house, a house decaying. This house is dying."

"It was my home. All I ever knew. I gave up my art for him. I cooked, I cleaned. I stopped having my own thoughts. And when you came to me in a dream and said destroy my house. I thought you were crazy. I would have no foundation, no representation in the world. It was my stage of being."

"Those of us who work within the rhythm of life are called many names. I call you sister, I call you goddess, now rise like a phoenix and build a new house of light. Take my eyes and see the truth."

Millie reached up to the sky and pulled down Hecate's eyes and placed them over her eyes like glasses.

"Hecate, I see. I burned away the illusions. I destroyed my house of lies."

And the eyes separated and hovered above her and began to weep.

"My tears flow like clear water, laughing water from a stream, my tears flow to cleanse your dream."

And a rain fell upon Millie and her ash covered body was cleansed, the charred remains were washed away and a new foundation stood. The skeleton remains of her husband were washed into a grave that opened to receive it and flowers of assorted colors sprung up instantly.

"Hecate, my sister, I am new again."

Millie, with a thought, moved herself upon the roof and began to lay new roofing on with her mind.

Hecate closed her eyes and slept within the clouds that shrouded her that slept in the human form of Michael.