Parenting Pedophilia

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activismLeave a comment
This trial cover for Thomas Pynchon’s novel Gravity’s Rainbow is included in Luc Herman and Steven Weisenburger’s book Gravity’s Rainbow, Domination, and Freedom (University of Georgia Press, 2013) Photo courtesy of Biblioklept

You know how it goes, the child is just in your lap, or the bath, and you ignore them, any genital feelings either party has, but let’s face it, they’re more on the part of the kid, unless you’re a pedophile under wraps, or is that so? Every parent has dealt with it, their kid’s sexual arousal, so innocent it just peeks at you, a form of peek-a-boo you do not do, and before I talk about the parents that do, to one degree or another, and those degrees of slights of hand go to infinity and beyond, let’s just admit, shall we, that kids do get sexually aroused, even infants.

Okay, what do we do with that? I don’t think we have much of a choice actually, because or own conditioning by our parents, or whomever, in regard to the expression of our genitals, comes into play, and we are subconsciously overcome in the great majority of cases. We act out our conditioning. “Close those up tight and do not even touch them!”, a great American response, especially in religious evangelical circles, where, I might add, children are beaten right on an erogenous zone when they misbehave, especially in regard to anything like playing doctor with other children. Such denial and suppression leads to untold sexual distress and disease, and not only in adulthood.

It’s those religious circles, in America, drawing a line in culture and saying that educating children about sex, gender, and sexual orientation is sexualizing them and has to stop immediately, never mind the contradiction in their voting practices, not of all of course in that crowd it must be said, voting for someone to man the highest office in the land who has bragged about grabbing pussies and been shown in civil court to have raped at least one woman. You would wonder at his penis conditioning.

But let’s leave America, for a moment, and go to India where I sit and write this. Some time ago I spent a half an hour alone with a girl of seven rubbing on her vagina left and right while talking to me, like checking the oil in our engagement, our being together, to see if I had interest there. Alone with her indoors some days before, she actually put her hand down her pants and brought her hand back up and smelled it, and so I made it a point to only be alone with her out in the open outside, where people could see from a distance how close I was to the child, if the girl happened to want attention from me. Not getting a response she got up and went a few feet off, pulled down her pants and squatted, as if she’d been rubbing it because she had to pee, but she was actually testing me to see if I’ll look at it, and I didn’t; I petted my dog, acutely aware I was in a danger zone, but on the part of the child, it was an erogenous zone, and the danger I was in was not responding to her (please, I was not going to) but her saying I did when I didn’t, and who would believe me?

This was not my imagination. The sex was right there, and the child was giving the signals to play that game, one she’d played with an adult before. Seeing her around her parents, I could see it wasn’t with them, or not exactly, but the way they guarded her from the white man said more about what they knew about their child’s behavior than what they knew about mine. Old, gray-haired and pot-bellied, kids still mill around me expecting something almost supernatural, and you would have to witness it to believe it, but from my side it’s no longer what the old nursery rhyme is secretly saying, “This old man, he played five. He played knick-knack on my hive.”

We have dealt with these things since time immemorial, under the covers, under wraps, and when we do look at them out in the open, it’s never us (as parents) that we’re looking at but some monster molesting children. That girl gave it to some man, wanted that from me, because, in her parents conditioning her vagina, one, the other, or both, it was an open slate, and there was slight of hand going on, little digs in that genital, quick in and outs that meant more than cleaning it to the child, and, after all this time, we still do not know how much very young children feel down there, just how strongly they are in the body compared to even older children, how they can feel our feelings we are unconscious of while we feel them down there in the name of cleaning or whatnot, and consequently how open they are to conditioning in their first three years of life. It’s not science yet to say that our sexual orientation is fashioned there, in those earliest years, but we’ll get there eventually. It doesn’t just come in the breeze.

I don’t want the eye of Sauron to suddenly turn and look at me, I mean, before I’m able to destroy the ring, before I’m able to complete my mission here on this checkered globe, not a divine mission mind you, a human one, which is simply showing you my see, but it’s part of the picture to tell you that, after many years living in nearby Pondicherry, and many before that on the road a perpetual traveler, I live in an undisclosed location in the area of the international city of human unity, Auroville, working on human unity, and you’re hearing results from those long years working it out in its nitty-gritty, wherever I’ve been.

The parents in question may not have opened that land, their daughter’s genitals, but in my travels in Asia, I’ve seen parenting often does that, why it’s said to be easy pickings for white men to come to such places and molest children. Parenting practices have much more to do with the children’s openness to sex than poverty, in my observational opinion, based on seeing many a mother tinker with their little boy’s bundle, daddies too, right out in the open (the girl thing so much more hidden), but if we were to really get into it, especially in such places as Africa, we might see that poverty shapes parenting in its nitty-gritty.

It was actually healing for the child to be with me, what little time she was, to be allowed to express those feelings, and they are not acted on by the adult, not frowned upon either, just accepted as part of the relationship that was unfolding between us, one I wasn’t really into, and not only because she was a little girl and not a little boy, and I love boys. She aired it out, exposed it to daylight, not darkness. I don’t think many people really know how to heal children of sexual abuse or would be wiling to allow it if they did. There’s risk involved, because it’s a non-offending pedophile that fits the role better than anyone else, most preferably, as impossible now as it may sound, the offending pedophile made whole, the one who hurt the kid to begin with, and removing children from risk, returning to America, has become a national pastime, a national disaster really, when the results of the incoming generation come in, so many not able to handle life.

We don’t understand how behavioral made we really are. It’s not just genetics that shape us or brain matter things. My mother gave me fellatio to orgasm from soon after birth until I was four, but the very last time was in one of those little changing rooms on the beach we went to, and I was in there with my mom, she changing me into dry clothes. I remember her teaching me how to lock the bathroom door when I was around that age. It was to keep her out. You fault her, but she stopped, and that behavior shaped mine too, thank goodness.

It happened as a result of that early love affair with my mom that she was my whole world when I was a little boy, and I could not be away from her for very long without crying, on her lap anytime she was home, in her bed with my older sister, until I wiggled and got sent back to mine, and I always wiggled. At nine I spent the summer with my dad and his new wife and her two daughters, and we all got caught playing nasty it was called, except for my big sister, who wasn’t involved, and it was reported that I put my little cousin’s penis in my mouth, reported in a tribunal where the men, my dad and two uncles, were seated with belts around their necks interrogating each one of us separately, we an extended family, a clan sharing a family farm, fundamental Christians. It was reported I was the ringleader, the instigator, the Devil in their midst, and I was beaten so badly with a belt the blood welts on my butt and thighs took days to heal.

When my mom came to pick me and my sister up at summer’s end, take us back to the city, Houston, 130 miles south, the farm in the beginnings of the East Texas Piney Woods, she spent a very long time in the trailer house talking to my dad, me outside sitting on the bench swing between two stately oaks, and I began to get scared, real scared. She came out and sat next to me, and one of the first things she said was about putting that penis in my mouth, and how I needed a man to raise me, not her. Later on, when I was an adult, and we were going through the explosion of the discovery of a pedophile in our midst, the who, what, when, why and how of that no one will be truthful about, she was to deny saying that, and it’s funny what we remember, funny too that the truth just sometimes gets lost in what we don’t want to remember.

I remember her getting up from talking to me on that swing, and I just losing it, begging and screaming for her not to leave me there, grabbing ahold of her with my very life, ahold of my momma, and my dad coming out of the trailer and prying me off, her getting into the car with my sister and driving off, all like some ghost ride. I got away from my daddy, a maniac by this time (I actually went temporarily insane), and I chased that car as far as my small legs could carry me, and then I collapsed into the red dirt of the road, looking up at my angry father and soon to be wicked step-mother, and the story got worse.

Two years I was made to live there, not able to visit my mom much, on account of how I carried on leaving her, but returning from spending two summer weeks with her and her new husband, a kind, college educated man from California, Bucky, who was to make a reader out of me, two weeks spent running the streets with other boys my age, and girls too, who I kissed and had crushes on, a newly built suburban street, I cried for two weeks almost non-stop, until they called my mom to come get me. I was eleven. If you think it an accident that I was for many years primarily attracted to boys aged nine to eleven, my age the two years I spent in those woods, you’re just not thinking how my behavior was behavioral made. You would ask how to undo it. I’m with you there, but you’re not ready for the answer. I entered adolescence just a few months later, still eleven, primarily attracted to girls my age, and to women, but I came out of it exclusively attracted to little boys. I’ll tell you what happened, but it’s weird, and you don’t like weird.

Lucid dreams, out of body experiences, contact with spirits, déjà vu, my childhood was peppered with these things. You might wonder at the power of infant orgasm to open the consciousness, for good and ill. There have been experiments with it, not underground or illegal at the time, done by Wilhelm Reich and Masters and Johnson. Try to find any mention of that on the net or even in later editions of Reich’s book on the function of the orgasm that once told of his experiment with it on infant boys. I don’t think you’ll find that easily. In the reports of the experiments, you don’t hear about the future of the boys experimented on, and with both groups it stopped when they were five and able to masturbate themselves. A book of fiction called Gravity’s Rainbow has a character that was part of those experiments, and, now grown up, he has this uncanny ability to have sex with a woman on the exact location in war-town London that the next U-2 rocket is going to hit. I’m just showing you what’s in the air.

Moving right along, I was a very sexual adolescent, doing it with other boys, both younger boys, boys my own age and older boys, with younger girls and girls my own age, but it was girls with a mature, hairy vagina that I wanted above all else, to get my hand there, my penis. When I was 13 my girlfriend told me she was pregnant, because it was the first time that I’d ejaculated, to my big surprise, and hers, and she just automatically assumed she was pregnant. We didn’t know anything. I was terrified, until I found an older girl who could explain things, and then I prayed for my girlfriend to have her period.

She did, to my great relief, but at her house not longer after, taking a hit of a joint being passed around by her big brother and his friends, and this was 1974, and joints were always being passed around in the suburbs where I lived, I experienced the wrong door to enlightenment, a horrible place called by Buddhists the pit of the void. The whole world turned weird, like all at once, and it was as though I was trapped in another dimension very far from my body out there in the world doing things, my voice like it was someone else’s, colored tracers on the movements of my hands and feet. I had been stoned once before, my big sister getting me high, and we laughed and laughed, but this was different. My consciousness embraced the weed.

I went home and into my room, barely able to talk to my mom and Bucky, they surprised I wanted to go to bed at 8 o’clock, and I laid down on the bed, and it took off at great speed. To say that I prayed would be an understatement. I rededicated my life to Christ, what I’d done at my dad’s church just to get that feeling again and all the attention, an excitement like you felt God on Earth and the attention a kid loves, everybody shaking your hand and blessing you, but this time it was for my very life, and I was the only one in the whole wide world. I promised God that I would be a preacher if, when I woke up, I’d be normal again.

I woke up and was, and over the coming months that turned into three years I would become a teenage evangelist of sorts, and it was wrong to have sex as a teenager my religion taught me, even to think about sex, and so, with my fight over not masturbating, I began rebuking my penis in the name of Jesus, to no avail I might add, and somehow, things got mixed up, and what I suppressed was my attraction to mature girls, too immature to admit to myself the attraction to little boys was anything significant, and I was able to stop masturbating about girls but continued to about little boys. I talked to preacher after preacher about helping me stop masturbating, told no one about my hidden attraction, and they all advised I stop playing with myself.

Do you see it? I needed a behavioral model, not just counseling. I needed to have sex with a girl my age during that crucial time in a child’s development, almost as crucial to development as those first three years of life, so I would not become a man exclusively attracted to little boys. Now, would even liberals allow such young teens to have sex for the purposes of healing? I would have had a shot at being normal, having a normal life, a wife and family, the little boy attraction not dominant, and I can’t tell you if I’d never had acted upon it then, but I’d be in the position of a lot of people who have some conscious attraction to little kids, theirs or someone else’s, but they’re better able to keep from acting it out because they have a normal means to express their sexual feelings and gratify them.

Society protects itself from change by letting only approved voices into the mainstream public conversation, and I’m not talking about the sideline of blogs, X, personal web pages and such. The 60s threatened to topple that, and the mainstream had to adjust to disapproved voices getting in, on a massive scale, and the Internet gave hope in the beginning that it would get passed the gatekeepers and not be one day regulated like TV, but society quickly reacted to both threats and protected itself, and today on the net, you must be a scientist, a university professor, or a mainstream journalist/writer to spell change as I’m spelling it, in the psychology of our stuff, or a voice the hundredth monkey has approved, a wildcard always. The trick now is how to become that voice and be real change and not just a ‘hey look at me, I’m interesting.’

The most hated person in society doesn’t stand a chance, but I basically have the education of a professor if you knew the nitty-gritty of my education while in university, the self-study in human psychology I underwent and the fieldwork in 27 countries on five continents, a vagabond living with locals, with many, many families, after I left university, and I have conducted experiments with consciousness that will one day be seen as scientific investigation, either that which I have done or someone else doing the same thing in the future, when we adapt the scientific method to inner experience and explore that field like we do the field of matter.

But what about curing pedophilia? It can be healed, not cured, and you will always have the desire until you reach a state of no desire, what enlightenment, also called realization, achieves, and I’ve had momentary experiences of it and can tell you that from firsthand experience. You can, however, do extensive surgery on that desire and inform it with wisdom (informing it with knowledge helps but no cigar), but it’s infusing it with love that keeps it just a desire that doesn’t turn into a fantasy or an act, true love, love for the child, for humanity, for yourself, and for God, who is not in this case an old man in the sky but the hidden identity of everyone and everything, and it’s the ever-growing realization of this identity, slowly unfolding over years, that actually does the trick; I mean, in very practical, visceral terms that child’s God looking back at you wanting good attention, and the world’s God looking at you wanting that child safe with you, and God’s you looking at yourself not wanting to let anybody down, most especially the child, and God’s God looking at God’s own self just wanting love and healing all the way around.

I follow a system of yoga psychologically and heart based but that does not neglect the body either, one that is actually bringing a new way of doing things upon the Earth, although one can say it’s as ancient as it is new, one that, the case of wrongdoing, what has most mattered to me, why I came to it in the first place, uses integration, harmonization, and understanding, as opposed to denial, suppression, and separation. The yoga is still under development, and I myself have been a developer applying it to the world knot of pedophilia. It’s still in the basic stage of worshiping and quoting the masters, its founders, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, and has been there since they died last century, and one such as I is an outcast untouchable, not accepted as even a human being much less a developer, of course, since I’m the zeitgeist hates, like it’s never so universally hated anyone.

I certainly understand why they are worshiped and quoted ad infinitum, but that is not the yoga but religion. Early on in my 30 years practicing the yoga, I had a dream while camping in a crevice near the top of Mount Royal in Montreal. In the dream I lived in a close-nit community of Quebecois out in the country, and I began to fall in love with a woman my age, and everyone was happy about that, since it wasn’t a little boy, and the moment came when we were alone on the wide, roofed, porch that ran around the whole big old wooden country house, and we kissed, about to make love, and she turned into the Mother, and I became lucid, did not continue to the sex I might add, but I was delighted to be in her arms, and we spoke of heaven and perfect bliss.

After that dream my natural attraction to women that I’d suppressed as a young adolescent began to surface in dream, but it’s never surfaced into waking life because, other than hiring a prostitute, there is no set up in society for this kind of healing, although I can see it’s on the way, and, besides, it’s not sexual gratification I’m seeking but spiritual enlightenment. I show this to show that it’s behavior that changes behavior, not just some form of counseling, and to show that our sexuality is more flexible and open to healing than we now believe it is.

Earlier still in my practice of the yoga, when I first began to practice it on my first visit to Auroville in 1995, I had a lucid dream where my mom, the early twenty-something one who nursed me, was walking around my early childhood home stark nude, looking life a specter. She was looking for me. As a toddler, returning to waking life a moment, I would hide from her under the sink or somewhere, when I knew she wanted to do it, when she had that expression on her face. I was hiding from her in the dream, although I was grown. Then the Mother appeared and told me to stay where I was, and my mother came in, with that expression of pure lust that I was so afraid of, because it wasn’t my mom, and the Mother told me to look at that face, and the dream froze, and I looked at it, realizing my fear of sex with women came from there. I did not lose the fear after that dream, but I gained the knowledge I needed to see my fear’s origin, which was an important part of the path to wisdom, and I’m showing here another type of immune system that we have that we just need to rediscover, since it was known in ancient times, one that heals us from maladies of the mind and heart, one that higher beings than ourselves, one can say divine beings, play large roles in, hands on with us here beings even many of the religious don’t believe in.

Behavior though, not dream or divine counseling, worked the reality of God into my reality with children. It was being involved in the daily care of older children on a parental level that opened my eyes to the true needs of children, but it was becoming a parent of my little boy, who I got involved with the night he was born, that God began to manifest right here on Planet Earth, and that boy, God unawares behind his eyes, taught me how vulnerable children are, how wide open, how innocent, how earnest they are and how they just want the best from you but will take the worst if some love’s there, how they are forgiveness pioneers, how so into themselves they are trying to figure out who they are, how wonderful they are and how terrible, how the butterfly effect just slams you upside the head when you see that little thing you did wrong to them, which could be one of a million things, become a hurricane when they get older, how so very incredible they are and how it’s our job as parents to keep them that way, how they are not for us, neither for themselves exactly but for humanity, for the whole wide world, and we want a bright future, not one where they manifest our mistakes, the fucked up future we’ve had since we began having a future as humans on this now very crowded planet.

The conversation we need to be having is the right way to raise children, examine ourselves in the telling, telling ourselves not only not to molest them, as if that’s the only thing that harms children, or the worst thing that can happen to them, but also telling ourselves not to hit them or give them any form of corporal punishment, or even be mean to them, because it’s as damaging if not more so than sexual abuse, and we can see the violence in our world that results from it, since we began raising children, violence in our homes and out in the streets, and out on the battlefield, now in our streets more than ever, coming closer and closer to areas we deem stable, and, those of us who can see it, we are just blown away by the unbelievable submissiveness of the majority of the population of so many countries being fooled by authoritarian power disguised as parental concern or religious fulfillment or both. We need to stop hitting our kids and being mean to them.

That’s a more realistic place to start parenting kids right than forming vigilante groups to hunt for child molesters or giving the death penalty to sex traffickers, a projection so large on the part of the American religious right you can see what they’re doing, denying their own abuse of children, which is huge, but their greatest denial, which is also one of society’s biggest too, why the religious right is so loudly calling foul to more openness in classrooms concerning sex and sexuality, saying it’s sexualizing children, is the fact that kids are naturally sexual, as a kid is, not an adult, and they need a way to express their genitals without punishment, all along the line of growing up.

This person that I am has a lot to say about kids, the wrong person to say it to most of you. No doubt you will be shocked, even alarmed, at what I have to say and at the audacity of someone like me saying it, talking about the changes we need to make with kids, and I’ve said it not like this in the prose of a somewhat ‘nutty’ professor or a very creative and audacious writer but in poem after poem after poem, long poems at that, in the very place the net is shrinking us, our attention spans. You don’t have a hair on your ass if you don’t reblog or share this post if you’ll pardon the mature audience of that expression, and if you don’t have hair there, I promise I will control myself.

Christmas Day, 2024

A Reader’s Digest You Cut Myself Open As

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, Poetry, supermindLeave a comment
Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem, Rembrandt c. 1630 (public domain)
Nobody was gettin’ it.
Nobody was doin’ it,
the divinize to Supermind.
It was a gulf we could not cross.
It has large eyes.
We could go there,
a moment’s ramble,
a miraculous overload.
Then it could not come here.
The puzzle with the master key,
the key proved useless.

It’s not manifesting here.
It can’t,
and we can’t bring it.
It is just a heartache to try.
Do you see the field,
how it operates in time,
its measure,
its miraculous be there?
But this is to hold us up
not divinize us.
It’s the prop that made the stars.
It put the universe in place,
a bold experiment,
the origin of your lifetimes.
It’s where we get to
at journey’s end.

It’s a-w-e-s-o-m-e-l-y deep.
It would harmonize the world
instead of punish it.
It would give us the gift of identity,
and I am you and you are me and we are everything,
as we see the world,
not as we think in ideas.
It would give us the stuff of consciousness
as our playdough,
and we could rearrange the stars,
make time travel our mode of business,
make the Earth perfect again,
divinize our sun,
take society and human life,
and we would be in Heaven here,
no strife,
and our bodies would last longer
than time worn on,
and yes in this matrix we could change clothes
where we put on new bodies.

I’ve stood at these crossroads,
tarried there,
been beaten down by the Gods,
put in my place by man.
I have gotten nowhere a nobody in time,
and I had the keys to change.
You would not listen to me
because it all sounded so weird,
because I couldn’t get it across right,
because I made a little boy that key of change
that starts with a better society,
use kids as the model
to make society better,
and I listed all these 1, 2, 3s
to change our way with children,
and I made this little boy
the node of the whole thing.

It failed, I failed, he failed,
because no help came.
I had challenged the Gods
in Their very thrones,
and They just simply blocked my way.
The Gods oppose it with Their rule.
They oppose Supermind you know.
It’s bigger than Them
and a whole new way of life.
I challenged the demons in their very core,
revealed their workings in the heart of man,
and the way they corrupt our children.
They almost cut my head off,
and they infested the parents of that boy
with so much livid hatred
it was impossible to talk to him
ever again.

We lost,
because the Larger didn’t arrive.
The Gods and the demons had joined forces
to keep us apart,
and Supermind never came.
It didn’t act.
It never showed up.
I’m the unacceptable sacrifice,
perfect, that’s me,
and the boy is scared of his own shadow.
Now you can say we’re to blame;
it’s us;
we did it,
but we were standin’ there on the root of time
all systems go,
and no power came,
no help from larger spheres.

It just sat there and watched us
from above.
It didn’t do a thing.
Who am I against Gods?
And I can’t cross demons
a mere man.
The Larger failed
because it’s not meant to be here,
not in our world,
not in our universe.
We’re too close to Hell.
Because it cannot come here,
the Larger never showed up.

We’re doomed
to a life of littleness and strife.
There is no remedy from this.
I tell yah no one wants it,
and that’s the crux of the matter.
We obey our subconsciousness impulses,
not reason,
and we get mad
if someone shows that to us,
ostracize them.
So I’ve got to go,
delete mostly everything
I’ve put on the web,
because I’d be killed by a mob in America
exposed
or by some lone gunman
vigilanting pedophiles.

You don’t know what I’ve done,
and you don’t care.
I’ve shown you my utter self,
so you can see humanity
in every man, woman, and child,
and I’ve done more than that.
I’ve given you love.
Goodbye,
this is defeat,
death in the conversation.

Whales in song have no trace. (spoken at the end of a dream where I had to staple notices on a wall in some legal office that says I can’t see or speak to Nithish, and it’s the third notice, and I’m stapling it on top of the others, and they are not agreements on my part not to see or speak to him but are like traffic tickets you have to sign that do not admit guilt)
This is steady aboard.
You see the role here,
what’s at stake.
What a grandiose title.
It’s not wrong.
What the poem does is fashion models,
a point of suffering the whole world rides
because it can.
Oneness has that model,
and when you’re at supramental stakes,
the node of this story,
it’s world big.
Look where it’s being played out,
the advent of Supermind
in Pondicherry,
the cradle of the superman
in nearby Auroville.

Of course it would happen there,
a story that carries the stakes,
but you are doubters I understand.
Now let’s look at Donny.
He’s been there you understand,
an overhead experience into Supermind.
Of course he’d carry its stakes.
Just as this poetry,
he’s been bigger than the world.
It trips him up every time,
readjusting his eyes to the cave
allegory’s Plato.

Now he’s seen the sun,
and he’s been world big,
a member of a nuclear weapons team
missioned to detonate the bomb
hand-placed,
and the whole world stood in the balance
on 1983's Cold War
right on the edge of World War Three.
He didn’t do it but the thoughts led to it.
The bomb wasn’t loaded,
but the mission still went.
The doubt remained until they hit the ground,
gathered their parachutes and took off.

That’s world big
you get caught in those thoughts,
made him identify with the world
after many long years of study and self-practice,
and then there’s Jerusalem
where he put up his poems,
right in the old city
Easter and Passover of ’95.
It was a world mission,
the poems tactical nukes,
he at the node of his religion
he was losin’.

We can’t gather him for you now.
He’s throwin’ in the flag,
calling it quits.
You get a taste of his world
in these voices.
You would not believe me but it’s bigger than yours.
He has thoughts that transmute an age.
You would just bury him,
like you do the real thing.
He just sits there and smiles
tryin’ to make it work
and cries and cries
for the defeat of the sun.
You can’t blame him there.
He didn’t oppose it with his rule.
Let’s sit some seconds here
in his defeat.

Is he really a complete waste?
Is this blog no different than all others
in its wide open?
Should he be silenced
by you wanting attention?
Or by your fear of the word pedophile,
a social trigger so big
it freezes society,
and you are afraid if you give him his humanity
they will take yours?
The gift of healing he gives on that
would change the world
if you just let it in.

Cowards every one of yah
where it counts,
you don’t really wanna help children,
else you would do so here.
You don’t.
Now let’s back up a minute
and come back to this poem later
and see what happened to him.
Put your like or pat your nose
and get back to your stuff.
Nothing compelling here, eh?
The ATM looked like a gift ATM.

Playing God

On By Donny Lee DukeIn applied nonduality, ego activism, Poetry3 Comments
photo by the author
About concessions surpassing condition in this mutual lust’s core. /
From Don to poet in 30 seconds.
I’m on poet duty.
I’m a hole in One.
Can I tell yah our range card?
The ego sits in its bunker
wonderin’ over friends and family,
excused about relationships
the very center of relationship.
Hey you I’m a world,
a big planet unto myself,
the center of my see.
You have not that validity.

You’re just out there,
and I’m in here
the substantial train yard.
I wanna melt these barriers down,
but I grab myself again,
and that’s impossible.
I really love you,
and that’s sweet and kind.
No it slaps you in the face sometimes.
I’m all animal whirl
when someone gets my goat,
but I mitigate it
with you must be in there too,
just fightin’ your own wars
really feelin’ yourself
a wounded soldier.

Can we get out of this?
I try.
I don’t know where to put you
if you don’t see my worth,
if I am just a blob in a corner
to you.
We sing awhile
the injustice in that.
Oh my God do I compensate.
I think I feel every hole in humanity.
I so understand your pain,
and it moves me to tears
I’m embarrassed to show.
My God you have a rough time
little Gaza boy
alone in his bed
of refugees.
I don’t know where to turn
from your pain
Parkland shooter
realizin’ what you’ve done.

I’m a hole in the fence
to a greater life
I can’t fit my own self through,
but I’ve been there
a time or two,
on the other side of that fence,
miraculously arrived
in the very vision of God’s eyes,
and I know we are safe
caught in the lifetime passage dream
to bring us all out of strife
at the end of the tunnel.

My God I would be there now
if I could unrealize the dream.
So I sit and suffer
in a peculiar sense of humor
that sees beyond the show.
I know we will be made right.
I see this in my puppy dogs
trying to crawl into me to feel safe
and ease their loneliness.
I am the master of love to them,
and I am but a prototype
based on God.
We’re headed somewhere,
you and me and the whole damn crew,
so I hold my dog and comfort you,
who set bars alight
wantin’ to get at this lust’s core
to dream to change it.

I would not be bothered safe.
Now tell me now would you?
Would you give it to ‘im,
this poem over there,
if he were your little boy in trouble?
We can fly the world on a single point
where suffering goes
and capture the whole poem.
Oh my baby dog Nithish,
we wish you a happy birthday
on tomorrow’s wings.

Burden’s Doctor

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, PoetryLeave a comment 
Can we reach the delivery of the poem
that our being intercepts?
I am worried about contradictions
and just pissing people off
instead of reaching them.
Nithish is suffering.
I don’t know where to stop that.
No one seems to notice
because it’s not polio,
but it’s heartbreak nonetheless.
He misses me,
a mother to him
for many years,
the most important person in his life for many years,
and I’m not the only one saying that;
his heart does.

He’s in mourning,
and that’s not recognized.
It’s not even mentioned.
He’s not allowed to talk about it.
There is no outlet for his pain.
His mother knows it’s there,
and it makes her very angry,
and she punishes him for it.
What’s a kid to do?

He cries.
He gets angry.
He implodes upon himself,
but there is no issue from this dilemma.
It just keeps getting worse.
He cries.
He carries on,
and the pot boils over.
Now he’s desperate,
and when you’re 13,
adolescence has given you weapons
the child you are still can’t handle.
It’s a dangerous moment in Nithish’s life.
We want what’s best for Nithish,
and if we want anything else,
we are really playing with fire.

What’s his name,
Pride?
You wanna let ‘im shoot your kid?
It might be a gentleman
that gives you honor and social prestige,
for a little while,
but when you put it above your child’s needs,
above goodness and mercy,
you wreck your life
in the fall you have from Pride,
when it’s gotten to the point
even you know you’re wrong,
and that you’re treating your child badly.
But you don’t have to fall.
Put down your pride
and address your child’s needs,
okay Sandiya?

I’ve looked at soul models.
I’ve looked at grief,
and you’ve heard me on Facebook tellin’ about it
and all over the damn place.
I don’t come on this platform
to insult and offend.
I’m much better
in the werewolf of time
reading you right.
You took a bath tonight.
Son of a bitch!
We are closed.
Abolish One on the way.
Who do you get to come after you,
Mr. Cat Stevens
talkin’ about the Peace Train?
No you get a me pointing the finger at you
for all these abuses.

I respond to my muse.
I respond to the image of my boy.
I know he’s hurting.
Now can I spread this on the table?
He’s really hurting.
These are deep wounds he has to live with,
and they just eat him alive.
You don’t know the pain of suffering
when you’re just a little boy
all mixed up in adolescence,
your body a whistleblower,
and everybody knows you’re confused.
You’re standin’ there with a sense of self
no amount of world can resolve,
and you can’t grab the world by the tail
because it has you
so tightly in its grasp
you just want to please it,
make it go away.

He’s an adolescent,
in the most difficult years of his life,
the most confused,
the most tender
where he’s sensitivity it hurts.
He is already a well of suffering,
and then someone took from him
his support and his comfort and his home,
in his mind of things,
took from him his daddy,
and you all know how I mother people,
in a way that made it I’d died
with no contact allowed ever again in his life.
Oh my God that hurts
in the very substance of yourself,
and it’s a pain that won’t go away,
even if you want it to.
That boy hurts.
Please see that.
It’s terrible for him.
It’s the end of the world.
Oh Sandiya please listen.
For God’s sake listen.

Yeah I know I’m studying your attention
like I need to end this poem.
Not quite.
Transact another line.
Who has turned over,
that’s always a thought.
Believe me,
we can fix this right.
Everyone would have run had he been 13,
a teenager in years
with their what's up.
There’s enough fuel,
still childhood left,
to remove this pain,
to take these scars out of his life,
take him to his blue book.

Healing is the first thing I’d do Sandiya.
I heard his manhood
depending upon this time.
Please,
open,
open up in there,
and put down your arms of control
that’s squeezing the life out of him,
and let him be with me,
and let him be with you,
so that it doesn’t hurt.
I’m the denomination now,
and that doesn’t hurt.
Do we throw this boy to the wolves or what?

A kid his own age,
George,
I know very well.
I really know kids,
like it’s the focus of my life.
You know
that boy’s in trouble,
and you know what has happened,
and you know Nithish needs me
because I can make it right.
Pay him back on the outside
what he needs on the inside to heal,
and give him me for his birthday,
and give him the happiest birthday he’s ever had.
Give him what he needs.
Let him on his birthday
be with his daddy,
and here I am.

Born to Love

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, PoetryLeave a comment 
To murder someone else
on the arms of a little boy,
in the status of a little boy,
you hit the nail on the head
with what keeps us from being human to one another,
what keeps our humanity at bay
in the everyday meaning of relationship.

Nithish has a parent that’s me
we didn’t put together by law
or found by blood.
Time did it,
growin’ him up in my care,
parenting him.
No amount of denial can change that
in this boy’s heart
or in my shattered life.
No amount of lies can make it undone.
We are parent and child and more.

We are each other’s significant other
in that our lives are undone
in the worry over the other.
Where do you see that?
In his inability to concentrate solely on school,
in his brooding silence,
in his anger
that’s at a flashpoint every time,
in his antsyness and nervousness
not knowing what to do,
in his inability to sleep at night.
These are just vehicles.
Those around him know something’s up,
have known for months now,
and all the punishment you can give him can’t stop it,
all the control.

You got a situation
where you’ve gotten rid of one of the most important people in your son’s life, /
a very important person to your life,
even important to the school his goes to,
and that was done in what amounts to murder in the first degree,
where you simply killed him
as cruelly as you did that:
without any thought of goodness
or proper action,
cut me out of your boy’s life
like he was holding the gun,
and you even made him shoot me,
and he suffers for that to no end.

You can’t say why you done it,
just that your parental rights give you that right,
and I have none,
what it boils down to,
whatever the dyslexia of the situation,
the Sri Aurobindo,
and you split your family doing that,
made culpable his school.

Who am I again?
A real live person in your life
no amount of getting rid of will get rid of,
and even if you actually did kill me,
or send me off in space,
I would be around your neck
in plain view of that boy
for the rest of your relationship with him,
what you did to me and why
so you can have him for yourself.

Can we rule of the heart of the matter?
And the heart is a tough customer,
and you feel it too.
It’s what we live by,
overrides every rule,
shows itself as the leader of the life
in every relationship.
It can’t be denied,
and even if you ignore it,
it will make sure you can’t,
and you can’t can you Sandiya?
That’s why you control him so much.
You know he wants to be with me.

He’ll be 13
in less than a week.
I’ve been to every birthday that boy’s had,
been a principle player.
You know what he wants for his birthday.
He wants his daddy.
He needs his daddy.
You are his mother,
and that’s what mothers do,
meet their child’s needs.
Was he born from your womb and now you own and possess him,
or are you really his mother?
Well are you?

Anyway,
I want to see him on his birthday.
Why can’t that be arranged?
That’s tonight’s show.

The Last Outcast

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment 
We all understand tomorrow.
I’m goin’ somewhere.
It’s not dishes.
I find my boy,
bring him home to me
and do something bigger than life
right there in my homegrown.
It’a about my consciousness and its see.
I arrive my boy first,
giving him healing.
This is a new brand
we will get good at
so it can be mass-produced.

I’m in enlightenment shares
healing my boy,
a spiritual consciousness override.
They’re dealing with
a mass showdown.
Right now it’s all black.
Not even a pinpoint of light
gives hope.
It’s all gone,
the whole save my boy plan,
and spiritual practice
has fallen by the wayside.
I’m merely drifting
to no ends.

I count my stupidities now,
where I am half-crazy in rants.
I sound good on a piece of paper:
I’m gonna see my boy;
I’ll get that spiritual consciousness again;
it’ll all work out.
I talk to his parents
like I have the power of God.
His parents have the absolute power to rule his life.
I just make them mad and guard him more.
You’d think I’d learn by now
my voices are deceiving me;
my voices are derailing me.

You’re in trouble.
You’re on a stage.
Are you there
with anything bigger than life?
The world’s not gonna listen to you.
Everyone ignores your pleas,
and your knowledge don’t turn anybody’s head.
You just sit there and sing.
This is the gist of life.
This is how almost everybody feels the world.
It’s impotence sings.

I’m a diamond in the hall.
I’m on top of everything.
I really know my business,
and I understand the rise of the world.
I don’t spit there.
I feel humanity like it’s my very self.
I can see the cutting edge of time.
Movements I see,
world shaping movements,
that give me a great yard.
I’m of few people see them.
Now I come back to myself again.
I’m not the stupid guy.

I have reason to believe
my boy’s comin’ back to me,
and I will put on the Silence once again.
It’s evidence
I can get big as the world in tellin’;
I can wrap the hours around God,
and I can make you examine yourself
in your hands on children.
You sit there and believe me,
some of you,
because you hear the angels sing
in this poet’s gut.
I’m a strong one you know,
and I hold up the world
an Atlas unknown.
I really do it,
take the ideas that change the world
and transmute them into verse,
one rocket at a time.

You know I’m there
because I love you
in that special formula
that makes you feel me
in the very place we meet,
in the intimacy of a poem
that’s got handles on it
that bring the world closer to you
as God sees it,
dangerously in love.

You must have some
grace
to journey this day.
It’s the vulnerability of a poet
I give it,
just role of bein’ hallelujah. [line heard sung to tune of Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”]
You doin’ okay?

You Don’t Have Any Choice

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
photo by Douglas
That kid sees daddy
God’s will.
That kid never sees daddy again.
His parents are evil saying that.
Evil and horny,
they market this child for themselves.
This is bad business.
They stomp on him every day.
They can’t help themselves.
It’s gleeful.
They like making this boy suffer.
The power surrounds them.
They feel like Gods in his presence.
They get off on his pain.
They know he loves daddy,
and they punish him for it,
every single day.

They are beside themselves with hate—
their child wants to be with daddy,
and they know that.
The terror they put through him
to force him to keep his mouth shut,
or to force him to lie,
is what you do to your child when you’re monsters.
He is so scared of them
he has thoughts they will kill him,
smother him in his sleep
I’ve already told you in another poem.
Can you imagine doing that to your child,
being the terror of his life?

They revel in this,
will not let him up,
and the power they have over God,
it’s where they find themselves stupid.
God does not honor them
or what they do.
How God allows evil
to take us for a ride,
is everywhere apparent.
You saw how long the Nazis rule,
how long Islamic State cut people to pieces.
Then God comes in,
and evil forces are destroyed,
like the Earth itself does it.
You see it happen every day.
Evil gets reckoned with.

Evil gets changed,
can we show you the gist of this story?
Nithish is not here to suffer
so his parents can be punished for it.
They will know what they did,
and their love for their child will show them,
what has been there a measure on the situation,
keeping the beatings to a minimum,
keeping the abuse from killing him.
You know he thought of suicide.
What this boy has done
is shown what child abuse is
when it’s not recognized as abuse,
here in India where you can beat children
and totally and absolutely control their lives,
bend them to your will,
even expect they worship you,
and even adulthood
does not find freedom.

Nithish has gone through this
so you can see this.
They’re not expecting art.
They weren’t expecting mine.
His parents aroused a poet
to defend his boy,
to help his boy,
to save his boy,
the likes of which you’ve never seen, have you?
A power of poetry
that gives God reign,
that let’s Him do His business,
you hear it now.

But we find another poet here,
tender in years,
his parents have tried to murder
because they associate it with me.
I opened up poet in him,
and you’ve heard him sing.
He has the future in his hands,
a poet of prophecy,
and he prophesied this abuse
and his waylay in it.
Read his poetry
this can’t be denied.

Can we come to terms with Nithish?
His future poetry writes
a verse that will finally free children
from being someone’s property,
from having the status of slaves,
not to buy and sell and trade,
but to make them obey
with no say in the matter,
and to make them do their parents’ will
regardless of the cost to the child,
to make it as though the child was born for them,
for the parents’ pleasure,
for the parents’ rule,
to obliterate the fact that a soul came down
on this adventure Earth
to work out its purposes in time.
This slavery we need to see,
and these slaves we need to free.

To abruptly stop his childhood in the slam shut of school,
when he has a learning disability they do not address,
they know but will not admit,
will scar him for the rest of his life.
It’s their thang with him,
and they love it there.
You’re meant to be crisscrossed.
You’ve stolen the boy’s life,
but you cannot see you’re wrong for the trees,
the stupid people who back you up,
the negligent police,
the blatantly ignorant Child Welfare Committee,
and a school that is so backward in education
they let parents abuse their child
and don’t even know what a learning disability is.
They are ridiculously called New Modern
Vidhya Mandir Higher Secondary School,
and they’re not going to stop me
from showing them to the public when all this is over.
They need held accountable for this.
I will see to that.

Interstellar from national backgrounds,
I will show where Earth is wrong in school,
school responsible for the shape we’re in,
and school we need to change.
Academics take a backseat to being human
you colonial legacies
fillin’ the Industrial Revolution’s need.
Antiquated,
outdated,
and on steroids,
it’s destroying our world.
Beavis and Butt-Head
are to help us through kids
to their appointment in time,
to their children now adults later,
to the sting of childhood
making us examine ourselves
in roles as parents and teachers
crammin’ adulthood down their throat,
and they are yet but children.
You very ignorant
and narrow-minded,
corncob stuck up your ass,
uptight bunch of people,
did you hear that?

Good, I’m weighin’ on yah now.
Just wait till that boy regains his pen
you stop shoving school down his throat

and let his poet speak,
his purpose on this God’s green earth
you won’t allow cause you’re dim in the head
and give his parents absolute rights.
Just wait till he gets that pen again.
Just wait.
Nithish will give us the right ideas
to parent children,
and that is his future fate.
That poet is among us now
silenced,
gagged.
You think so?
Let’s wait and see.

Look at Pearls on the Mountaintop

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment 
I’m a bleeding article from your last test,
a hyper-hypotenuse.
I say the line.
It’s a dynamic field.
We don’t get there soon.
We don’t even see it for awhile.
I hate to be the seeding can.
I’m not celebrated in the streets.
I can’t get my name across to change the world,
but I tell you where God’s made,
Mr. and Mrs. People.

God grows distant here.
I am so tired of institutions.
The institutions of marriage and family break our social fabric
in adhesive bonds.
We can’t get away from them.
They test our social fabric
with what can’t be named,
a guttural possessiveness that puts us all in hordes.
We tarry there
eating each other alive.
It’s needed for our ship,
a family of parents that brings kids into the world.
It’s not what we need to survive.
It’s what we need to get rid of
as the managing arm of society,
as our social fabric dies.

We can’t raise kids that way:
listen to me or die.
My life you have made whole by your coming,
and I will rub your nose in it all life long.
You can’t be free from me
where you go against my purpose for your life,
my need you for my own ends.
Society balks at this:
give that child freedom
to manage freedom.
Why must he live his parents’ life?
Why must she be the daughter of their destiny?

Why do we have to do this all the time:
uphold the parents’ rights
to determine the will of their child?
Can you count this
in terms of freedom?
Step back parent
and let your child play outside
no rulers present,
no supervisor gag models.
Alarming this is
on humanity’s plate:
Big Brother rules the child
just in everyday parenting.

The fear of outside unsupervised doors,
sex resides there, doesn’t it?
Your fear of sex rules the show.
Your fear of sex rules everything.
They get scared
of their own front teeth
we put sex trafficking models on them,
a child molester behind every bush.
They don’t know what it means to be normal
with the fear the news media raises.
Add that to their own possessive accounts,
the parent that raise them,
to guard that child at all costs
from perceiving another parent in someone else,
and you just explode at the seams
with a child that can’t reckon itself,
and they will grow up unable to handle society.

A new institution will make the new man.
A small group of people family size
will orchestrate the new human being.
They still visit their families
every damn week,
maintain those close ties,
but any kid that can relate a dream,
old enough to,
becomes part of a dream group
their dream calls them to.
This is a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen,
and a handful of people call its name.
They are near the child’s home
forming all the time.

It’s what society does now,
spiritual growth.
No clogs in the machine,
children will grow up to change the world.
A spiritualized society
comes about from its own accord.

It rises from the soul in things,
and we almost see glimpses of it now.
No government can put this in place,
nobody that makes steps the criteria to get there,
and no organization makin’ people do it.

I’m a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen
speaking its piece,
and we’ve lost our youngest member
to parental overreach,
Nithish,
a prototype of the new human being.
His stuff is on the web for you to watch.
His tale is told
in these crawl spaces of his life.
Jealous of the songs he was makin’,
jealous of the music,
his parents made a big mistake.
They tried to take out his soul
in great abusive waves
that tore down his life.
No reason for this
except jealousy.

It’s heartrending.
Their cruelty destroyed him,
and he was left a nervous wreck
scared they would smother him in his sleep.
In such an environment he turned off the new human being.
Betrayed by God,
whom he adored,
he stood helpless facing time
a growing rage against the machine.
Parental rights determined all,
why I’m fighting for his life.
You hear me now, don’t you?

I can’t do it anymore,
just stand by and write poems.
I’m a half today.
The other half is his,
and we make a whole of action.
Finally, inevitably,
we come together on freedom.
Hear us Lord?
It’s Your horse we ride
the day we certainly dare,
the day we certainly keep.

Great Fields Earth

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, Poetry, Silent Mind, supermindLeave a comment
photo by the author
What is the reality of love?
Also whisper.
Facebook items,
the key story
homes.
Nothing else taps it.
I go through generations.
Hear what was going on,
my falsehood—
I will stop him from going into silent night,
silent ground.

But the graces of life
protect me,
and I look over it.
I’m a field study.
I’m an alpha nigger,
higher than perfume.
I get into cars,
laptops and computers,
and go the distance.
I recharge my phone
with the very ground of being.

I am so low I see high.
Humility has me by the balls.
I come upon sudden mastery.
I’m not about to endanger your skies,
and I have the formula for world change.
We can’t brag about it.
It’s hard on all of us.
I just sit here and die in my tin can,
and then all of a sudden I’m walkin’ the moon to its orbit.
I have the sun in my eyes,
and I don’t blink.

I know the power of the world.
I am sure God’s there.
I see Him on His rounds.
I am commensurate with that
on the top of myself at dawn.
Nowhere in my being reaches that
but there.
It’s a knowledge I breathe
that I can’t get out of,
and I’m a little man doing little things
as the day wears on.
I don’t pride there.

I’m never alone.
My inside is full of deity.
You better be careful.
I’m on the standin’ line of deity watchin’ the world,
because I know They’re there.
We need to open up and see this in each other.
We are both stations of God,
you and me reader.
I die there sometimes
the knowledge is so heavy, immense.
I just stand and take it
and come back to joy before long.

I know the knowledge that made the worlds,
and it tears me apart,
because the power does not come to me
to change one single goddamn mind,
to reach out and be seen,
heard,
to bring my child out of trouble,
to even know the wind of the day.
I am a barrel of monkeys
to what it takes to perk up the world,
and I have seen the world
from God’s eyes,
in a station beyond the universe
right here intimate with man,
a few glory-filled seconds,
long enough to know the origin of all my lives,
long enough to know that I am He,
long enough to look up and see more.

You would not know what I’m talking about.
It’s bigger than size and measure.
It’s what the worlds was made.
I can’t get away from that vision now.
Oh how we but little grasp our day,
little doings we try to put in big pots,
but I know the pot you see.
Can I study you the stars?
They are wonderful in magic,
are the Heavens we adore,
but they do not bring us to God,
and it’s God on Earth wore.

Can I tell you about history?
Knock, knock,
God is entering every room on the planet
to happen here.
This is inevitability rides the sun,
and the years are carrying us there,
one by one,
evolution’s minutes wrote.
Are you startled to see this?
This is not a junk call.
This is the hypotenuse of time,
and high and lonely seers,
we grasp this with our hands
and spill the beans to you.

Are you sure you’re puttin’ me on hold?
I have more to tell.
I’m gettin’ down to bare bones now.
I’m showing you creation’s ways,
and I can see the world arise
right in front of me.
Awesome, ain’t it?

What do we do with it?
We put it in its place.
We don’t let it get away from us.
We know that every day can
work out the formula of impossibility
and solve it.
I’m referrin’ to us,
where we love each other and why,
and how do we make that love true?
It’s the danger of the years,
love’s high gamble
in the face of certain death.
We lose each other you see,
and that just kills us.
We hold our loved ones we hold death.
How’s that for a keeper?

What brings the salvation
before we cross that gap between love and death?
A spiritual consciousness
that’s bigger than us,
and I’m sorry there’s no other remedy.
Love hurts.
Enlightenment’s wings
unheed pain,
and we do not suffer the pain of loss.

I’m there you see,
in loss looking at the spiritual consciousness.
I’ve put it on a time or two,
short flashes
that tell me know it’s there.
It’s surety that rings it,
sooner or later.

Now laugh at me, slap me, ignore me;
I’m on ground-field Earth
liftin’ up the sky.
Shoot me;
I’m a real thing,
a genuine who done it,
made the grass match the stars.
Roll the planet down,
and I’ll ride it like a speaker.
Yah hear me kids?

This is what’s going on,
and God opens His eyes.
Tryin’ to interview Pitch Thought about his character,
you gotta draw the line somewhere.
Ode to the line,
a good friend to you,
I think your security blanket,
and I’m a top down answer.

I had a momentary experience.
It’s all written.
I had a visionary experience
of every local thing on Earth
realizin’ dream
to catch up with God,
and you had just told me look bread.
Oh, I didn’t realize it was me.
Anyway,
look bread.

Heaven and Hell

On By Donny Lee DukeIn Nitish's YouTube channelLeave a comment
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Video description: Losing a child in circumstances where the child also loses you his parent sets up heartbreak on a level of suffering that is simply hell, for the parent and the kid, because your kid isn’t dead; your daddy isn’t dead. Both are in easy seeing distance but cannot even talk on the phone or message each other, and that is a knife that does not stop stabbing as time goes on. As long as that kid’s a kid, and even after, and as long as that daddy’s a daddy, hope assails you in the same place as despair, and all the bad voices are saying bye, all the good voices are saying hi. Now you can hear the song. He loves his daddy.