Tag Archives: Leigh Binder

Divine Intervention

Out of nowhere came this urgent need to reconnect with him. It had been several years but took only minutes before his voice was in my ear and he was damning me for reaching out again. I’d found him in limbo, which wasn’t actually surprising, he’d already done his stint in India, studying with the masters, becoming a Yogi and whoring the knowledge he’d gained for himself in order to survive. Always just trying to survive.

He was back in the states on the west coast, ready to head east if I gave the word. He was tired and just wanted to lie down, wanted to lie down with me. But I hesitated, as I always did, and no matter how brief or split second my pause, that was always the deciding factor.

We relived each moment spent, every truth ever told, forgave all the pain caused by endless lies and selfish deceptions. It was cleansing. It was cathartic. It was the most honest we’d ever been.

We said goodbye and promised to stay connected, though time slipped away and we never really did. Only after I found myself lost, once more wandering blind in the black abyss, did I reach for him again, only this time he did not come. I searched and quickly found that a brain tumor had taken my sage to the other side, just six months after we said our final goodbye.

I slipped deeper into the pit where no light could penetrate, lingering in my pain with no will to move from that place; and I stayed there for three long agonizing years. Until one night he came to me in a dream.

The next morning I searched and quickly found a message that previously had not been received. A comment left on a post he’d written after reading my words.

There must be something

Worse than being alone

More painful than lonely

Something other than death

Though I’ve yet to find it –

“I’ve been searching too. Nothing of value. I thought it was karma but it’s really just life. You move me with this one. This is powerful, this is truth…dying’s not so bad. I’m not haunting, but I am knocking.”

Death had changed me, for what I believed to be forever, loss had snuffed out my light and I knew there was no coming back; accepted as my fate to simply exist for my remaining days; until he threw a rope into the well of angst and urged me to climb out.

That changed me more than death could ever do, for in that moment I was reminded what my pain had allowed me to forget; there is no death, only a shift of worlds and our connection is never truly lost; and if he could throw me a rope from the other side of life, I could sure as hell reach out and take back mine.

~ jillterry 7.1.18

On the road

on the road

I’m traveling and unavailable, but even if I weren’t, I would still be unavailable to you.

Truth is
You don’t know me
I don’t want you to
I don’t know you
I know I don’t want to

I can understand why Veronica Lake kicked you to the curb for sitting on your ass smoking weed and waiting to die. What the fuck kind of existence is that?

I also understand that people like us get up and go to work every day to make an honest living to support ourselves and families, only to have a portion of our pay go to people like you who are too fucking lazy and irresponsible to get a job; though quite capable, but believe it’s your right to be taken care of, as if the world owes you something simply because you were bourn into it.

Fuck that

If you can’t do the public then get out of it. Find yourself an abandoned asylum somewhere and take up residence with the local ghosts that can co-exist with your own.

I’m not your friend
I never was
I have nothing for you
I never will

I understand your kind, whether you’re flopping on the sofa of an acquaintance/friend, or roaming the halls of your country estate.

You’re all the same inside
Looking for someone to fill the void

I am not filler

Please don’t contact me again




Truth does not vacillate; it is always true.

Whatever is true is eternal, and
cannot change or be changed.
Spirit is therefore unalterable
because it is already perfect,
but the mind can elect what
it chooses to serve.

excerpt: a course in miracles

Man of no Moon

He was a man of
No moon
No sun
And no stars

Just a man
Wandering as if lost

Staying his course
Littering his path
With pillaged souls
Broken hearts

©2010 Jill Terry

Soul Collage No.4

May 7, 2010 by jill
A depiction of my decent into darkness and emergence into light

Bad Oyster


The world was
His oyster

Plucking pearls
He happened across
Basking in their

Until he grew

Then back into
The sea
From whence
They came

Neurotoxic poisoning
Traces left

Not because they
From within a
Bad oyster

But simply from
Touched by

© jillterry

Exceeding the Misery Quotient

So many ways
To be miserable
Attained on a daily basis

The moment It wakes
From unconsciousness
Forced to face another day

Plundering the masks
Upon the wall
Who shall It be today

The angst the drama
Poor pitiful soul
Its only offer to the world

The same worn path
Each footfall memorized
Wallowing mistaken for art

For those who recognize
Its misery demanding company
Avert and forced to purge


He was an intrusion, of absolute proportion; penetrating her world after ingesting her soul in words; adjusting his intention to mirror her verse; and yield to him she did, as a scent on the breeze. He fooled and beguiled, wrapping her so tightly in his web of illusion, so as to not draw breath, in the absence of his presence.

But in her darkest hour, when his debauchery was arrogantly revealed, she did not succumb to the iniquitous pain; but gripped the dagger determinedly in both hands, withdrawing it from the gaping wound; raising it to the heavens, a goddess of just punishment and vengeance.

A victim escaped, from his kingdom of abysmal darkness. A defiant act he could not discern; infuriating, frightening, invading his calculated demeanor; pulling him to the edge, as she resurrected from certain death; causing him to strike unabashedly, showing himself the fool within his own pathetic realm.

She allows him these glimpses that keep him coming; an end to satisfy their story; in his angst-filled world that is without end; the poetess wielding a witches pen; hovering over past lives, this one and the next; a bitter enemy writing the text, an unbeatable opponent, an avenger rejoicing his downfall, delighting in his much deserved punishment.

© jillterry


She reached with trembling hands
In the one direction
She knew she shouldn’t

Precariously she traveled
To the edge of deaths ledge
Desperate to feel anything
Craving his rejection

She raised her arms
As if to take flight
The ground shook violently
Breaking night’s silence

She heard the hoof beats
Coming hard and fast
Over her shoulder
Half beast
Half man

He snatched her away
From deceptions cruel embrace
With the key in possession
He spirited her away

To gaze no longer
Into the blackened abyss
Reliving past mistakes
Suffering fools pain

© jillterry

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