MAY FAILURE BE YOUR NOOSE: When Devi Revokes Jurisdiction

MAY FAILURE BE YOUR NOOSE speaks from a late, surgical stage of sādhanā where nothing formative is left to be learned — only something must be ended.

This is not a voice that guides, refines, or metabolizes experience.
It appears after intimacy has already failed, after restraint has been practiced, after silence has proven insufficient. The work here is not integration. It is revocation.

Functionally, this voice belongs to the moment when:

• love was turned into leverage,

• closeness became coercion,

• devotion was used to dominate,

• or meaning was weaponized to keep something alive that should have ended.

At this stage, withdrawal would enable the distortion.
Compassion would prolong it.
Silence would collude.

So Devi does not soften.
She terminates jurisdiction.

This voice completes a precise function: it removes the energetic scaffolding that allows a false intimacy or false authority to continue. Nothing new is built. Nothing is healed yet. The only operation performed is making continuation impossible.

There is no rage here, no catharsis, no moral theater. The tone is exact because the task is exact. What speaks is not wounded and not triumphant. It is procedural.

This stage comes after:

• attraction to darkness has already been metabolized,

• restraint before withdrawal has already been learned,

• and post-path non-interference has already been lived.

It comes only when something sacred was violated and cannot be allowed to recur.

Once this function is complete, Devi falls silent again — not because She has withdrawn, but because there is nothing left that requires address.

What follows is not instruction, not consolation, not illumination.

What follows is clean ground.

First stanza

 “Who will love you if I don’t?

Who will fuck you if I won’t?”

This is not desire speaking.
It is power being exposed.

These lines are the naked articulation of a hidden contract — the kind that operates beneath romance, devotion, or intimacy when those have already been corrupted. Love here is no longer love; it is leverage. Sexuality is no longer eros; it is jurisdiction.

Devi is not asking these questions because She needs an answer.
She is throwing the lie back into the open.

This is what control sounds like when stripped of politeness:

You exist because I allow you.

You are held because I choose you.

By speaking it aloud, the spell breaks. What depended on silence loses its force.

The repetition is deliberate.
This logic always repeats itself. It survives only by echo.

“May failure be a garment to wrap ’round you
May failure be a belt with which to gird you
May failure be a noose with which to hang you”

Here the voice shifts from exposure to revocation.

Failure is not invoked as humiliation.
It is invoked as truth without scaffolding.

A garment covers what was falsely adorned.
A belt holds together what was artificially kept upright.
A noose ends the possibility of continuation.

This is not sadism.
It is completion.

Everything that was sustained by:

• coercive love,

• sexual leverage,

• moral superiority,

• spiritual authority

is allowed to fail all at once.

The noose is not punishment.
It is the end of recursion.

Devi does not strike.
She withdraws support from what should never have been standing.

This stanza establishes the register of the entire song:
not emotional collapse,
not vengeance,
but jurisdiction reclaimed.

What speaks here is not wounded.

What speaks here ends something.

Second stanza

“You have cut me down… I am gone like a shadow at evening… I am shaken off like the locust… I am losing”

Here the voice changes temperature.

This is not Devi cursing anymore.
This is the false structure speaking after its authority has been revoked.

Notice the grammar: passive, declarative, without protest.

Not “I will fight.”
Not “I will return.”
Only: this is what has already happened to me.

Being “cut down” here is not violence — it is disenchantment.
The shadow disappearing at evening means illusion has no light-source left to stand on. The locust shaken off is not killed; it is simply no longer allowed to cling.

“I am losing” is not panic.
It is acknowledgment.

This is crucial: Māyā does not bargain here.
She does not seduce.
She does not threaten.

She names loss because loss is final.

This stanza is often misread as victimhood or collapse. It isn’t.
It is accounting.

The lie recognizes that the ground which supported it is gone.

No drama.
No plea.
Just fact.

This is what makes the song terrifying to those invested in false intimacy:
there is no opening left.

What has been cut down
does not grow back.

And what follows is not silence — but fire.

Final movement

“Everything burns down around me” (repeated)

This is not rage.
It is process completing itself.

At this point, nothing is being targeted. Nothing is being punished. The fire is no longer selective because selection has already failed. What burns now is not the offender, not the victim, not even the relationship — but the environment that allowed distortion to persist.

This is important:
the fire does not say “I will destroy you.”
It says: everything collapses once support is withdrawn.

Burning here is not emotional heat.
It is structural irreversibility.

Repetition matters.

The phrase keeps returning because collapse is not a single moment. It moves outward in waves — social, psychological, symbolic, karmic. Each repetition confirms that there is no pocket left untouched where the old contract could hide.

There is also no triumph in this voice.
No satisfaction.
No “justice served” posture.

Just inevitability.

This is Devi not as destroyer in mythic theatrics, but as thermodynamics: when false structure loses energy input, it decomposes. Fire is simply what decomposition looks like at this scale.

The song does not end with a new order.
It does not offer renewal language.
It does not suggest rebirth.

Because this phase is not about what comes next.

It is about ensuring that what was false cannot be reconstructed.

When everything burns down, nothing needs to be watched anymore.
No vigilance.
No guarding.
No remembering.

What remains after this is not clarity or peace yet —
it is clean ground.

And Devi falls silent again
because now
there is nothing left to address.

When Jurisdiction Ends

This song does not resolve anything.
It closes something.

The function completed here is not understanding, healing, or purification. It is the removal of permission. Whatever depended on leverage, coercion, or false intimacy is no longer allowed to continue — not by effort, not by resistance, but by withdrawal of support.

Nothing is redeemed.
Nothing is explained.
Nothing is offered in exchange.

That is the point.

This is the stage of sādhanā where the Goddess does not teach by presence or absence, but by making continuation impossible. The fire does not argue; it finishes. What burns does so because it no longer has a structure to stand on.

After this, there is no enemy to watch, no contract to guard against, no vigilance required. The work is over because the condition that required work no longer exists.

Devi falls silent again — not as withdrawal, not as distance — but as finality.

What remains is not peace yet.
Not clarity.
Not renewal.

Just clean ground.

And that is enough.