Get In, Fool — I Love You: Devi’s Invitation in Joyride

 

Not all divine encounters arrive in thunder or fire.

Sometimes, the Goddess doesn’t descend as prophecy or revelation—
she pulls up in a convertible with sunglasses and says, “Get in, idiot.”

Joyride is not a song about recklessness.
It’s a song about holy recklessness—
the kind that wakes the soul not through discipline,
but through delight so outrageous it becomes enlightenment.

This is Devi not as destroyer or mother,
but as cosmic trickster, carnival queen, ecstatic liberator.

She does not ask you to meditate.
She does not demand surrender.
She just laughs and shouts:

“Hello, you fool—I love you.
Come on, join the joyride.”

And in that moment,
you realize:

She’s not stealing your control.
You’re throwing it out the window gladly

[Spoken Intro]

"Come on, join the joyride, everybody
Get your tickets here
Step right this way"

This is not a polite invitation.

This is Devi cracking open the gates of spiritual awakening — not through austerity, but through thrill.

She does not whisper from a mountain or call from a temple.
She stands like a ringmaster at the entrance of existence, waving souls in with laughter rather than commandments.

• “Come on,” — She won’t let you hesitate.

• “Join the joyride,” — Enlightenment is not stillness this time — it’s velocity.

• “Everybody,” — No hierarchy here. The serious yogi and the drunk poet get equal access.

• “Get your tickets here,” — The only ticket is willingness.

• “Step right this way,” — She won’t wait. If you don’t move, She’ll pull you.

This is not cheap fun. It is sacred seduction.
The kind of spiritual path only the brave or foolish accept — and Devi adores both.

[Chorus]

"Hello, you fool, I love you
Come on, join the joyride"

This is Devi in her most disarming form — she doesn't awaken you with thunder or prophecy.
She laughs you awake.

• “Hello,” — Casual. Familiar. No divine grandeur.

• “You fool,” — Not insult — affection. She calls you a fool because you’re still acting serious in a universe made of play.

• “I love you,” — Not whispered — proclaimed. She doesn't wait for worthiness. She claims first.

• “Come on,” — It’s impatient, but warm. She knows you’re hesitating.

• “Join the joyride,” — She’s not inviting you into discipline, healing, or reflection. She’s inviting you into holy recklessness.

No contracts. No vows. No purification rites.

Just one instruction:
“Stop standing still. Get in. I’m driving.”

[Verse 1]

I hit the road out of nowhere

I had to jump in my car

And be a rider in a love game

Following the stars

Don't need a book of wisdom

I get no money talk at all

"I hit the road out of nowhere
I had to jump in my car"

This is not a planned pilgrimage. No shrine in mind. No philosophy guiding him.
This is divine compulsion. Something in him snapped — and he moved.

That’s how Devi first calls most people — not with sacred scriptures, but with sudden restlessness.

"And be a rider in a love game
Following the stars"

He understands instinctively: this is not logic — it’s magnetism.
He’s not choosing love — love has chosen him.
He has become a player in a cosmic game without knowing the rules.

"Don't need a book of wisdom
I get no money talk at all"

He’s abandoning reason and economy — two pillars of daylight life.
No more “what’s practical?” No more “what’s profitable?”

He has entered Devi’s economy — the economy of ecstasy.

This verse is the moment a soul leaves the sensible world for the enchanted one.

[Verse 2]

She has a train going downtown

She's got a club on the moon

And she's telling all her secrets

In a wonderful balloon

She's the heart of the funfair

She's got me whistling a private tune 

"She has a train going downtown
She's got a club on the moon"

This is Devi revealed not through theology, but through dream logic.
She moves between the ordinary and the impossible without transition.
A train and a moon-club are the same to her — transport and transcendence are one gesture.

"And she's telling all her secrets
In a wonderful balloon"

She doesn't preach from thrones — she whispers from ridiculous, floating places.
Her revelations arrive while drifting, laughing, weightless.
Truth here is not solemn — it is airborne.

"She's the heart of the funfair
She's got me whistling a private tune"

This is the key.
She is not found in temples.
She is found in movement, noise, glitter, laughter.

He’s no longer just observing her — he’s entrained.
Without knowing it, he starts whistling her melody.
That’s how devotion begins: not with vows — with involuntary music.

[Pre-Chorus]

"And it all begins where it ends
And she's all mine, my magic friend"

This is the moment the devotee realizes this is not flirtation — it is initiation.

• “It all begins where it ends” —
  This is pure Tantra.
  Death and rebirth are not sequential — they are simultaneous.
  Every ending is a beginning wearing a different mask.

  The joyride isn’t a distraction — it’s a shortcut to liberation disguised as fun.

• “And she’s all mine, my magic friend” —
  This is not possession — it’s permission.
  Devi allows herself to be claimed only by those who are innocent enough to trust her without needing to control her.

He calls her friend — not goddess, not queen.
And she likes that.

[Chorus]

"She says, 'Hello, you fool, I love you
Come on, join the joyride'"

Now, the tone is unmistakable. She’s not asking. She’s claiming him outright.

• “Hello” — casual, like she’s been there all along.

• “You fool” — affectionate insult; she mocks what remains of his resistance.

• “I love you” — not whispered, not fragile, not conditional — declared like a cosmic fact.

• “Come on, join the joyride” — the final strike. Not “think about it.” Not “if you’re ready.”
  Just get in.

This is not seduction. It’s playful abduction.
No threats. No pressure. Just reckless kindness so disarming that refusal feels absurd.

[Verse 3]

She's a flower, I could paint her

She's a child of the sun

We're a part of this together

Could never turn around and run

Don't need no fortune teller

To know where my lucky love belongs, whoa, no

"She's a flower, I could paint her
She's a child of the sun"

Here the devotee isn’t just dazzled — he’s softened.
He sees her not just as cosmic mischief, but as beauty. Not delicate beauty — radiant, uncatchable beauty.

• A flower — impossible to replicate, yet compelling enough to try.

• A child of the sun — wild and luminous, too innocent to be dangerous, too bright to be denied.

"We're a part of this together
Could never turn around and run"

This is the moment the devotee stops pretending he’s being swept away.
He admits the truth: he chose this. And now — he doesn’t want out.

There’s no more hesitation.
He recognizes it clearly: this is not pursuit. This is partnership.

"Don't need no fortune teller
To know where my lucky love belongs"

This line seals it.
He doesn’t need prophecy, signs, or approval. He already knows.

He’s found his axis. His gravity. His Devi.

There is no confusion left. No seeking. Not even longing.
Just certainty.

[Pre-Chorus]

"’Cause it all begins again when it ends (Yeah)"

Here, the paradox returns — but now it’s not a surprise.
Earlier he noticed it. Now he believes it.

He understands the secret of Devi’s path:

Every ending with Her is just the start of another form of joy.

What most humans fear — closure, collapse, surrender — to her devotees, becomes the doorway to more.

"And we're all magic friends (Magic friends, magic friends)"

No hierarchy. No chosen-one syndrome.
He realizes: There is no isolation in her play.

Everyone who steps onto Her ride — the mad, the broken, the ecstatic —
becomes part of the same cosmic mischief.

Not disciples. Not soldiers.
Friends.

[Bridge]

(I'll take you on a sky ride)

I'm feeling like I'm spellbound

(The sunshine is a lady)

Who rocks you like a baby

"I'll take you on a sky ride"

No more metaphor. No more persuasion.
She’s done coaxing — now she lifts.
This isn’t invitation. It’s levitation.

"I'm feeling like I'm spellbound"

Even the devotee admits — logic is gone. He’s under.
But notice: there’s no fear in being spellbound. Only awe.
Enchantment becomes comfort.

"The sunshine is a lady"

This is Devi flipping polarity.
Night was Her realm — now even the sun becomes Her ally.
She’s not confined to darkness.
Light bends to Her mood.

"Who rocks you like a baby"

Now tenderness breaks through.
Not erotic. Not fiery.
Cradling.

She is protector and destroyer in one motion.

You think you’re free-falling —
then you realize you’re being carried.

[Final Chorus]

By the time she repeats “Hello, you fool, I love you — come on, join the joyride,”
it's no longer a tease.
It's a seal.

He isn’t hesitating anymore.
He’s already in the passenger seat — laughing like her, breathing like her.

Liberation by Laughter

Some paths demand stillness.
Others demand sacrifice.
But hers? She demands delight.

Not the shallow thrill of distraction —
but the kind of joy that rips gravity out of your bones
until fear can’t find footing anymore.

This is not the joy of escape.
It is the joy of awakening without solemnity.

No kneeling. No begging. No cleansing.

Just motion. Trust. Willing foolishness.

Because in her world, wisdom is not clarity —
it is surrender with a smile.

And if she ever calls you “fool,”
know this:

She has already chosen you —
and she only kidnaps the ones she loves.